A sea of insomnia,
my soul teases with hints of tired eyes and weak limbs,
but they are all fabrications of the way I want to feel.
The quality of night no longer depends on who I spent it with,
but how long I stay up afterwards considering and revisiting it inside my head.
My head,
my cartoon head,
where everything is more colorful and precious and I can view it in anyway I'd like.
This is my boat at sea,
my cracked sails are just a memory,
my comatose oars an old accompany,
my clouded lantern a simple telescopic light,
my cramped breeze an immensely cold bite,
these are my friends through endless night.
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