Thick darkness of insomnia

Torn and tangible clots of darkness are heavily flowing outside the dead windows of a sleeping city. Endless road, ghostly changing its direction with every turn of a wheel. Full moon madness rushes upon me, and I don't really know (and actually don't care) how to fight it. That perfectly round, gleaming face, hanged there in the sky over my head, shamelessly stares at my backseat, where I'm killing another half of an hour on the way home.
Driving there, still I don't really know if I want to go there. To invade that sleeping block of rooms, where everything is extremely silent, where I feel lost only because of miserable noise I make there deafens me. But where can I go in the middle of the night.

Surrounding darkness is endlessly poetic. I mention that I don't concentrate anymore on what is moving outside the windows. Only this road in front of me, fastly and inevitably disappearing under the wheels...