Every **** night, I wake up here--
under the sheets of the stars
and the smoke of burning glaciers;
where the world chases me
through doors and hanging cliffs.
I run miles in repeat undoubtedly
like I am meant to, but I'm not.
But am I really meant to?
Every **** night, I am clouded
with the lullaby of fears,
fading lives, and cries of demons.
Every **** night, I wake up here--
from counting sheep each night
to fall to waking up
in a dream of killing of oneself.