Sleepy.

It's late.
Outside, it's deepest dark.
Here,
It's just me and the whirrs of the computer.
The air is heavy-
Slowing me,
Holding me down.
It is a task to breathe.
Huge, full breaths
Like a diver might take after resurfacing
Or I might take
While pondering diving at all.
They even sound heavy.
As does everything.
Not a thing is moving outside.
I might as well have been staring at a photograph
Of blackness
As out of the window.

The stillness
Is soporific
And my eyelids, insistent,
Drag me down
Into depths of murky
Sleep.