The night gasps as I exhale, so carefully, a final smattering of smoke. Unseen nocturnal creatures etch and claw at the natural timber surrounding our plot, feeding on sadistic delight in the fear of mortal minds who may lay in their homes.
I am visibly uneasy as I seem unable to conquer the almost impossible task of deciphering the relationship shared between the early hour and I. Dependent on such ghostly times as they steal slumber by the minute, apparently aware of such inflexible circadian rhythms that may be seen as my vicious vice. An escape unknown to me, as I lack the tools and keys to destroy the wall of forced awakening. My thoughts slip so suddenly, eyelash batting becoming more infrequent while I feebly attempt to drown your advances, consuming various bitter though numbing sludge. Yet, you have trumped my childish defense with a flick of your ace; a tactical weakness I cannot outdo.
Previously heard scratches and hideous claws increase their tension on twisted bark, myself sinking to knees and praying to any entity that may take pity upon me; alas such pleading will fade through your iron curtain. One final offensive card in my withered deck must only be the enemy of thou; a dawn to slash through what I have not been able to see.
Morning appears to be a luxury that I will never indulge in again.