Flickered

There's a moment in the early morning, if debt of sleep pulls remembrance of recent dreams where longing and yearning for content ensues. After a full dusk til dawn one nocturnal thought meshes with the next and nothing is distinguishable with a concrete beginning or absolute end. But a story broken with no chance to trick your mind back into rest, for much is to do today, I stare at my ceiling counting down the tics to the second alarm trying fruitlessly to erase what the subconscious posed as desire. The setting was simple but the emotions from glimpses more vivid and engulfing then a woken me will ever admit. There was a level of calm unknown before or after. Eyes open, pins of pain scatter head to torso knowing its a severed hope. Begin to convince myself content is idleness when a slightly static spoiled voice sounds from the dresser. Thank God for BBC, now I start my day.