Going to bed at 7.30am

[squirmelia]

The sky was bathed in turquoise, and a chalky flag floated above me. The charged cornflake air was ready to fire, but I was ready to sleep. Progressions were no longer needed, I wasn't needed, not now, not ever really. I was once a search engine, enter a query into me, except now I feel like a hysteron proteron, a jeopardy dream, rather gone, and a monster gift-of-the-sun.