I am a shelf lacking in basic
items, a space as empty as space.
My eyes are heavy, measuring sleep
like leaded weights of old.

Sleep beckons, the comfort of
pillow and duvet calling to me
over the air, my body longing
to move from desk to bed.

I am a spectre, washed away
within vortex of time. My own
moments stacked upon each other
in frustration.

Please, please can I move away
and rest my head? I promise to
serve if I shall be granted only
a few moments of peace.