Real-time

Everything you fed me, I take it on delivery. The fear does not grow, it is been washed away by the cocktail of tears and alcohol that I take down, shot by shot. I don´t have the sand to watch the room with the light on, I don´t have the guts to go to sleep sober. I sleep light, because the brick in my stomach falls heavy. I don´t dare to dream, because the awakening is either better or worse. And either way, it does no longer excist in real time, but just in my head.