Thais Serenity Poet Prose Poetry

Staring at the Ceiling

The nightlight's pointed fingers graze the ceiling. My phone lies silent on the pillow beside me. The 'Do Not Disturb' won't turn off until 6 AM. I'll hear the local birds tweet outside the bedside window before my alarm. I close my eyes and try to sleep after a long day…

Sleep won't knock me out. All I can do is stare at the darkness above. The dark writhes under my gaze and tendrils flick at my eyelids. It urges me to sleep. Drowsiness presses on the corners of my eyes. I'm tired. My shoulder throbs. I shift my weight. Alertness pierces me awake, and I groan at the memory.

I shouldn't have argued with Matthew. He loves playing Schrödinger's ******* when it comes to AI art being legitimate. He smirks and boasts how much he enjoys art now that he can do it with a half-assed prompt. I bruised my shoulder on the doorway when I tried to walk around him.

Matthew slapped my sore shoulder when he laughed at the face I pulled when he showed me his 'art'. I asked him if he'd remember his slop a year from now. He was confused. "Who remembers the art they make?" I should've thrown up my ham-and-swiss cheese sandwich on his white button-up shirt. My performance art would've livened up the afternoon.

I disengage with the memory and turn over to ease the pressure on my shoulder. The darkness scratches out Matthew's ignorant face. It's a shame I can't take a picture and show it to him. Sleep drags my eyelids close. I'll figure out a better response to Schrödinger's ******* with my morning's bitter coffee. My shoulder is lighter.

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