The other side of Midnight

Midnight has come and gone, just like the owl hooting outside the window, a flurry of feathers disappearing into the darkness. Still awake, or perhaps not, I sip a glass of red lipped grapefruit juice, straight from the fridge. I write as it comes, I don’t even know which language I am using, might be French by the sound of it, or Ukrainian. The black leather of my skin, just around the corners of my eyes, stretches to full extent as the screen to the other dream starts to split open, like a blood flower, or maybe it is just my sleep deprived imagination playing tricks on a restive mind. There should be some sense to it all, there should, at least, be a way to discover why the earth cries for help at the back of my head. Does it ask me to jump? I haven’t taken my medication today, I know I should but I just couldn’t bother. Grapefruit is better, especially when it is the colour of red lips. But then, pills wouldn’t allow me to keep writing this nonsense, they would scramble my words into meaningfulness. A blue pill is for the living, a yellow one for the dead, if you take both at the same time you may be asked to choose your poison. Midnight has certainly flown past me today, I couldn’t ascertain whether it was dark before, but it surely is now. As dark as the inside of an inside out sock. As dark as the white teeth of a penguin. As red as the good voice that screams for me to stop. Or, perhaps it is not a voice; it might just be my imagination, or an owl outside the window.

ps: Do not call the cops or the guys with the white coats yet, I might just be fine