LindseyInWonderland

sometimes, you have to stay up late. your parents tell you not to, and that makes the time-spun journey all the more adventurous. you stay awake until your family, even the dog, is exploring dreamland with sure feet. you stay awake until the sandman gives up on you and moves to the next nocturnal child. you stay awake until you see a ballet in your closet and a mermaid in your sheets. the clock ticks too fast and the turned-off faucet drips. a car bellows and charges the streets, threading glass and shattering the shimmering strings until the beast is tamed and asleep. your eyes are jelly and you can't see the alarm clock

your glass is not half-empty nor is it half-full; you see it overflowing, spilling over the sides and running down the edges, teetering, tottering, ready to fall-- but your eyesight is watery, blurry, dizzydizzydizzy with the contents of the glass. there is merely a drop, a scarce amount of your liquid depression; your lipid obsession; your timid expression; frigid progression; gelid aggression; needed direction. your glass has barely enough, don't make it empty.