Tick and tick, the clock strolls ever so inchmeal, as if the night has been draped within the curves of infinity. I lay here barren, unbothered by any cajole despite all the jibber-jabber echoing inside my teensy head. As Billie Holiday continues to run on a loop, I wonder if she had lost her charm or is it my stone-cold heart that is running scarce of any sentiments, what so ever. I need a reefer, I tell myself. I need to get high.

I take a look around, it is all Stygian yet why isn't it ...