Silent knot

In the quiet hours when sleep eludes,
being awake for long, through the night.
A scent emerges, twisting in the air,
the strange smell of something burning.

Eyes wide open, thoughts begin to unravel,
the mind plays tricks in the absence of rest.
Is it fatigue or dreams left behind?

This scent, a whisper on the edge of awareness.
Senses sharpen in the haze of wakefulness,
reality blurs in the long hours of night.

The burnt smell, a ghostly presence,
a reminder of the body’s need for rest.

In these hours, awake and worn,
the mind crafts tales as dawn approaches.
The scent of burnt lingers, a curious sensation,
in the sleepless wonders of the quiet night.