Sleep is the slow poison
Burning through my veins,
The thick pain behind my eyes,
The density of the fog in my brow.
Sleep is the little-death.
Time slips silent through your dreams,
Like a bandit, knave thief,
Knives drawn and catching lunar
Sparks. Blue shadows hang from
Twitching dendritic fingertips.
I will not be made vulnerable.
I will not submit to the cloying call,
The succubus, the temptress.
And though I lay peaceful when I fall,
Know that I do not go quietly.
When the sun returns, find my body,
Return it to my mattress, wrap me
Both in blankets and embraces.
I will rise up in a few hours time
To valiantly hold back the night again.
No comments:
Post a Comment