The reflections in the morning's mirrors bare resemblance of the Crypt Keeper. My emotions stirring like the man who watched the creature ripping apart the airplane's wing. Tremulous Trepidation.

Sleep was unkind and unwilling to grant me passage from yesterday's emotions. This taunting left me pleading  as I clung to my pillow. A makeshift  protection from the static between sporadic recollections of my past.

Mr. What's If's and Miss Why's were screaming in a heated debate of alternative scenarios. A deafening madness of inescapable defeat. My sheets becoming the weary white flag tossed about in the tailwinds of the ceiling fan.

I'm reliant upon freezing temperatures for any attempts for sleeping.