I toil in the dreamtime like a night manager in a hotel without walls, catering to clientele – whose needs, so diverse, rattle the rows
I wrestle with sleep – need overpowered by unease, senses on high alert, as if a child trying to intuit the degree of volatility in
so tired… the heaviness of slumber settles on me like a straight jacket – no point resisting… was it a poisoned apple that struck me
There is sorrow in the nighttime, when the light of day has faded, and the noise of life subsided, and all the world is slumbering.
He’s comes each day at seven, wearing the cloak of night humming a lulling lullaby hypnotically taunting me with the dance of fatigue. I resist,
You’d think that sleep would be my friend. Like a lover she would seduce me, lulling me into her black oblivion, coaxing me into her