Night lifts, morning slipping through blinds, soul returning from nightly foray, body awakening, a vague sense of disconnection – admit it, you know this.
If death is sleep then surely I am close – body leaden refuses to budge, brain a slow crawl I would feel something – remorse,
Sleep comes in great fistfuls will not let me shake it tosses me in seas of dreams – a first love, teenage antics, a mother’s
so tired… the heaviness of slumber settles on me like a straight jacket – no point resisting… was it a poisoned apple that struck me
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