Ice on the thorn.

I think I should just let go. It's summer. All the kids are playing. All the adults are dancing. The summer time is supposed to be the happiest period of the year, where we can crawl out of our dens and let the scarlet evening skies ravish us. The powerful sun dominates us and provides us with endless pleasure.
I don't find it that way. Summer is the most depressing time of the year. By far.

It isn't cosy. People are separated, enjoying their time by themselves with the sun, instead of roasting together upon an open fire.

At least during the year the routine will keep us tied together, and we can enjoy our time since we are anchored to the same boat. Now I am drifting too far towards the edge of the earth on a fragile raft.

I've been having trouble sleeping. The heat maybe, or maybe it's just that thought. Everyone's in a great mood around me, but I've never felt so alone.
There's nothing as comforting as a set of smooth words joined together, so let's have ourselves a little poem:

Sleep Debt

Days are all the same
All different, yet still lame
I’m the catch of the day
As I live my time away
The system’s perfectly aligned
With all exceptions resigned
And I am never tired
With being forever admired.

Days are getting longer
Nothing is making me stronger
I drift towards my soul’s boundaries
But the old me is still not deceased
The exceptions come in to play
With a hint of the system still in the way
But now am I so tired
That I want to retire?

Days never end
Solitude is my best friend
I’ve accumulated idleness
And filled my life with emptiness
The system’s safety is gone
I am the exception, not hanging on
I’m tired, my straits are very dire
And my conscience is on fire.

Maybe I must dig so deep to find what I really seek,
But first I must get some sleep, before my view becomes oblique.