Mar 2017
5 Reasons I stay awake at Night:
Escape .
From the monotony of waking up and taking the same crap from the same life, no matter how many times I shuffle the deck, these are still the cards I've been given
From the nightmarish dreams of reliving my best low-lights and missteps, and coming to terms that I might never be all that I've wanted to be
From the cold reality that these sleepless nights hold the only comforts I truly have left, inside the pages of a yellowed journal, battered and bleeding ink from its blurred lines.
Distraction.
Binging another series on Netflix always sounded more appealing than taking another night to cry into my already soaking pillow until I pass out again
Playing through Pokémon fire red and naming my rival "******" was fun when I was 12, so why stop now? Even though its my.. 132nd attempt.
There is always another more obscure indie band that might somehow understand me better, and I cant leave that unheard.
Fear.
I am so afraid that when I sleep, I might never wake up from that slumber. Not that I'm afraid to die, I'm scared of how badly I want to at times
I'm terrified I will see familiar faces in my best dreams only to wake up and remember they are still gone, and I have to go on without them.
I'm afraid of tomorrow. So maybe if I stay awake past the point of sleep, far beyond tired, I can always stay one step ahead...right?
Loneliness.
How am I supposed to crawl into a half-made bed, alone when it was made for two? Your body should be here next to mine, but I cant remember the last time I felt that.
If you were beside me, It would be easier for me to drift off through the atom bombs and revving chainsaws that are my addled mind.
I'll lie awake and stare at this pure white ceiling, and think of how Michael Collins must have felt on the dark side of the moon. Sometimes I envy him.
Me.
I know inevitably, my hollow and tired bones will have to shatter as I crawl on top of the broken shards of glass that is my mattress. As I grab the blanket made of flames, I pull it up to my throat, feeling its scalding touch steel the oxygen from my lungs, the asphyxiation slowly taking me under again.
As these shards seep deep into my now lacerated skin, I feel the heavy chains of my bed frame grab me and hold me in my broken solitude, as that sweet mistress of death floats above me, gently reaching out to me.
How beautiful she is, she leans in for that sweet kiss of the end of all things, my lips tremble as I meet up to greet her, but these chains keep me just close enough to feel her cold breath, never enough to feel that serene deadly poison she offers.
But how bad I want to on days when my bed holds me hostage, to kiss her in my bed until everything turns black.
Escape .
From the monotony of waking up and taking the same crap from the same life, no matter how many times I shuffle the deck, these are still the cards I've been given
From the nightmarish dreams of reliving my best low-lights and missteps, and coming to terms that I might never be all that I've wanted to be
From the cold reality that these sleepless nights hold the only comforts I truly have left, inside the pages of a yellowed journal, battered and bleeding ink from its blurred lines.
Distraction.
Binging another series on Netflix always sounded more appealing than taking another night to cry into my already soaking pillow until I pass out again
Playing through Pokémon fire red and naming my rival "******" was fun when I was 12, so why stop now? Even though its my.. 132nd attempt.
There is always another more obscure indie band that might somehow understand me better, and I cant leave that unheard.
Fear.
I am so afraid that when I sleep, I might never wake up from that slumber. Not that I'm afraid to die, I'm scared of how badly I want to at times
I'm terrified I will see familiar faces in my best dreams only to wake up and remember they are still gone, and I have to go on without them.
I'm afraid of tomorrow. So maybe if I stay awake past the point of sleep, far beyond tired, I can always stay one step ahead...right?
Loneliness.
How am I supposed to crawl into a half-made bed, alone when it was made for two? Your body should be here next to mine, but I cant remember the last time I felt that.
If you were beside me, It would be easier for me to drift off through the atom bombs and revving chainsaws that are my addled mind.
I'll lie awake and stare at this pure white ceiling, and think of how Michael Collins must have felt on the dark side of the moon. Sometimes I envy him.
Me.
I know inevitably, my hollow and tired bones will have to shatter as I crawl on top of the broken shards of glass that is my mattress. As I grab the blanket made of flames, I pull it up to my throat, feeling its scalding touch steel the oxygen from my lungs, the asphyxiation slowly taking me under again.
As these shards seep deep into my now lacerated skin, I feel the heavy chains of my bed frame grab me and hold me in my broken solitude, as that sweet mistress of death floats above me, gently reaching out to me.
How beautiful she is, she leans in for that sweet kiss of the end of all things, my lips tremble as I meet up to greet her, but these chains keep me just close enough to feel her cold breath, never enough to feel that serene deadly poison she offers.
But how bad I want to on days when my bed holds me hostage, to kiss her in my bed until everything turns black.
