radiate me with your midnight sun.
The beauty of insomnia starts to hypnotize,
clinging to my dysrhythmical sense of hope.
No permanent cycle for us, the unseen,
in quest to find a glimpse of tomorrow.
Foreseen nothing less of an exact rotating order
reaching out from within, a constant state of change.
Believing in a nearest doorway
to find real sunlight as I awaken.
Having a goodnight when the sun comes out:
dawn or dusk, it does not matter anymore.
Feeling somewhat lacking, thinking somewhat deceiving.
Confusion is here, and now in my collateral windows.