"Figure"-Jorge Biaggi '19

​I’m drifting off to sleep again. 
Though, this is better described as that pre-rest sting.
The lazy din of numbing sensations just below your eye. 
The product of this luminescent box in front of me.

I’m talking into it and you’re hearing it.
I thought writing and reading was too boring for this thing.
But I guess if I’m doing it then...
Yeah, it’s done.

It’s late, almost four. 

And I’m getting scared.
But I’m just too lazy to move I think. 

So I look at him.

That figure.

Gray and distant.

Unmoving.

Strange stance he’s got, almost chilling I’d say.
He’s just standing there.
Waiting in the darker corner of this room.
Well for me it’s past a glass door but that’s hard to picture. 

Since he’s not that scary when he’s behind a barrier.

Though this silly tremble in my leg says otherwise.  

I don’t like him.
And neither should you.

He’s ugly. 

Though I can’t see his face, I know he’s ugly. 
Since the way he just floats is kind of funny.

And he’s got this weird fuzz about him, like you’re starting at nothing.
The haze of nonexistence.
He isn’t really real. 

But he’s talking to me.
He’s the quiet type so I think it’s rather sweet. 

I don’t understand him though.
He’s muttering a bit too low for me to hear.

Speak up. 

Speak up.

Oh.

He’s telling me I should go to bed.

Maybe that’s why I don’t like him.