The night is silent, except for the fan
that spins music into the air
and spins air into wind.
It is late- or, more accurately, too early
for me announce my consciousness to the new day;
Too early to announce my wakefulness
in mockery of the sleeping night.
May it rest in peace
until memory returns it to me-
Returns its vague image of the dead past to me-
so i may laugh at it.
My eyes are tired-
The lids are longing to rest upon them,
so that they may, in turn, rest my consciousness and awaken my dreams.
I will not let it rest-
not yet.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the room-
or rather, its tracks, whose smell is conceivable only to those who are not guilty of that sin, or who have overcome that temptation long ago.

I am seeing ghosts in this very moment.

They have come for me, and for me only, as will your own
distinct ghosts will come for you.
They have come for me,and I've no choice but to responde
with silence, as it is too early to announce to the world of my consciousness.
These ghosts, they are from the dead past,
and are haunting me for the shame I threw upon them,
for treating their homes with disdain.

I can only respond with silence.

When the sun rises,they will rise from the room with it,
and fade away into the past, until I awaken them.

That is when I will make my announcement.