Rant of An Insomniac

I blow a puff of smoke into the cold air.
Heavy breathing could give the same visual right now, with frostbitten hands and ears that are numb.
I know I must seem tired. I know I must seem sad.
I feel like the ocean during a storm. Dark, violent and angry.
I feel like the tension between thunder and lightning, seemingly contesting, growing brighter and louder each time. Veins of the sky heaving within me.
I feel like the water in the bathtub, slightly too cold or too hot; in attempts of trying so hard to be just right.
I feel like this cigarette that is coming to an end; used up and burned out.