Sleep does not come easy to me, if at all
Quite often i find myself merely in a stasis
Un-moving, un-thinking, muscles completely still
Dreams came to me often; before
Beautiful machinations of my subconscious would wing their way to the front of my eyes
Images of my once very real fears would mix and mingle with the deepest desires of my heart
The balance of waking mind given reckless abandon within the confines of my mind
Some nights i would see faces of people i have never formally met, but i would look upon them like ive always known them
Other times i would escape the tendrilite grasp of mortal life and i would be swept away into the air on gorgeous white wings; looking with my own eyes down onto the earth
And a few times i would feel, oh so vividly, the touch of a woman
My hands, much like talons, taking her like she was my own
Engorging myself with a rare opportune moment of per self centeredness and greed

However fragile peace may be, it was the last bastion of mortality i had
Fortune would not have it; i would never again have a dream
Sleep was the last to leave me
I cant remember the last time i shut my eyes
I havent a single shred of memory for what it is to awaken
A single notebook is all that remains of my dreams

And reading them has become a small, fleeting task
Something to simply fill time
For each time i do it, it is new
Reading a fraction of my former life is like meeting a stranger
In hopes that maybe the dream i share with all those around me will end
Someday i will wake up, and perhaps then i will die

Maybe when i finally forget everything, all things of what it is to be
Perhaps i will die, and be born again
I can only hope to awaken, to know that things have changed