Lies

Sleep lies
just past shut eyelids,
yet remains out of sight
from a wide-eyed stare.
It sneaks and slips
just out of reach,
almost there
in a short moment before
the fall or sound or
memory. The promise of rest
is a whisper of sweet nothings sent
from shadowed corners-
it fades when faced.
Slumber speaks with lips
so soft and poisoned;
it says things like,
“A lullaby will make
everything alright,” but
sleep lies.






Sporadic insomnia does not work well with an 18 hour work day.
Other than that, life is super.

Creeping

Red veins lay
like rivers and streams
on the whites of my eyes,
winding their lazy way
across small earths of white.
They twist and twitch,
I rub and itch- night
comes creeping
ever steady, and they
cannot fight it.






Me and my crazy sleep patterns.
C'est la vie.

Chase

I am sleeping with wolves;
they love me and my heartbeat,
how it runs and leaps
and trips, faltering
with fear. They love
to bark and bite
at my ankles, imagining
how I could run
from them.







I will understand this later, which is slightly annoying because I want to understand it now but my subconcious doesn't cooperate with me.
Anyways, I really need to go to sleep.