Iím lying in bed
The ceiling fan spins above me
But itís no use
It just circulates the warm stale air

My eye catches this large ray of light
And I see the small particles of dust
Whirling within it so fluidly

Iím trying not to move
But Iím so uneasy
And my body does not obey my mind

I turn to look at
The cold glass of water
With floating ice cubes

Streaks of water are slowly
Streaking down the sides
And I pretend I am one of them
Cold and colliding against the
Warm wood below

These are the thoughts
Going through me right now
As my brain is fried by both
The climate and my life

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