The Next Day

"It's four," the clock whispers.
I'm wearing the darkness like a blanket.
A black permeated only by the halos of fictional characters
as their false tales follow me to my dreams.

"It's midnight," the clock whispers.
Though I saw the flurry of calendar dates with my own eyes,
what seems like only the next day has come.
Midnight.
It's late.
I plummet into my bed, ready (but not really) to hear the clock's early call.