I’m lying in bed
The ceiling fan spins above me
But it’s 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
I’m trying not to move
But I’m 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