eery; just like smoke

at 23.50

like the upstairs neighbour's cigarrette smoke
creeping into my living room
through the opened balcony door
it's closing in on me again;
I'm so tired

I see the symptoms, I know the cause
just don't know the cure

still don't

but as sure as I'm certain just as sure I remember:
it'll pass

bare with me;
just as I have to stretch and bend
-- you don't do it very well, though, now do you...
"there seems to be nothing wrong.
you have no reason to be such a baby!
it's your own fault, you know"

every evening a new page is turned,
taking me closer to rest

ah, forgetting...
it's the fix -- but not the cure