Bloodshot

The keyboard overheats the fingertips while the feet remain cold.
The eyes are creeks of red more vacant than bold.
The head bobs about its pendulous axis held steady by sudden reflex.
The mouth is hunger's prisoner all smells are held as suspect.
The mind has grown quite dim though the flourecents glow so brightly.
The body takes the glory as the mind shuts down to spite me.

Good night Tokyo.