We've begun settling into sleep. The peace I want for that sleep is an unanswered prayer to a god that doesn't exist. Peace? Sleep? Luxuries.
It's easy to be taken in by the prospect of sleep. The idea of it. Fucking fool's gold.
Not the gold of a fool but a fool's name for an altogether different element. The iron pyrite has never seen the center of a dying star. Seen. No eyes. See without seeing.
Goodnight moon, again. The lonely sunbleached flags are still waiting for nobody to come. So instead; goodnight sun.

Yes
No
Do nothing