The days are really counting itself down and I can hear the outcries. Not much time left but I'll grab whatever sand remains from the hourglass. Everyday just seems to be a routine repeat of the past week, a timeless inception if you will. But unknowingly and without any doubt, the days are never the same. Your ideas all deemed obsolete as you resign to your fate.

I guess every night can be this silent. The echoed pin falling, masked by your musky scent. The dog crows at midnight and you wake with a start. You check to make sure your 14 toes are still intact. Something's amiss but you don't recall what. Everything is in a haywire and you're pretty sure you left your head under your bed last night but now it's nowhere to be seen.

Something beckons for the at the door. You tread with caution, avoiding the liquid lava oozing down the side of your walls with half-wearied eyes. You realize your door is ravenous, forced into starvation for a month now. A month?! Has it been that long? Your comatose is starting to make sense again. Your fight with the T-Rex is slowly materializing once more.

Silent night. Your dreams are getting insane, so much so they have amalgamated with your reality. Or have your reality entered your dreams?

Matters not. You're losing it.