When the city sleeps tonight,
I awake in a fit of unrest.
I rip off the sheets in a trance.
Tore open the curtains,
Met with blank accusatory stares.
I see a vast plain of dwindling wastelands,
over and over again.
Photo within photo.
Black within gray, gray within whites.
I stumble onto the cracked barren straits.
There is no sun, moon, or stars.
Only barren sand.
And a door in the illusory oasis beckons.
I start to run. and run.
My breath shortens.
I run until I cannot scream.