Leftovers for the early birds

After carrying the minds overflowing burden the body takes its holiday.
It is hard to walk with so tiny feet.
Some lights are too much for the two dry eyes.
The head hurts.
Someone is following you.
The body gets warmer from a little excitement while hiding.
Perfect decoy!
The owlet moths are helping getting on walking again.
One hour is getting mixed to five minutes.
Only few tourists are left at the dark horizon, flashing their photoflashes.
No sounds left for me.
Hour after hour the next hour takes the nightshift and follows the tiny steps.
You could almost taste the salt, still some left there.
But he didn't even cry...
No memories of the dreams are left for the early birds.