A broken doll on the desk and the night reveals itself as torment. The storm outside isn't showing any signs of stopping and neither is the insomnia. One could say that the night is the departure of the soul but one knows too well that sleep is the way to reach an orchard of dreams that makes one continue to wish for more. So continue to sleep child, the wind blows outside and in your mind but you're safe as long as you keep collecting the fruits of your imagination. For that is the fate of those born with title in this world, such was sang so long ago by nymphs in the Greek's stories. And they carry on these days, looking after you as you grow old and begin to be what they wrote in their webs of fate and life long before you were born. Sleep child, sleep, continue through the avenues of this corrupted city into the orchard of dreams, that green pasture that you created and only you can visit.