shawnsmithart

Sleepy Time by: Shawn Smith Eric Skullings enjoyed the sounds of solitude. In fact he revered it; it being the long sleepless nights, the ethereal transformation of night to day and day to night. Dusk to dawn, and living through sunset to sunrise without an ounce of sleep. The pallid man, smiling and silent, whored himself out on foggy wakefulness, ignoring the the tight unrelenting tendrils of instinct to doze and enter the realm of the subconscious. He denied himself sleep as long as he could. His eyes were dry and hazy, his face sagging and weary, his mind numb and often sore, but he was happy. Happy and content and that's what mattered.