I have reached the point where I
don't want to sleep.
It's not that I can't sleep - I
really am so very tired, and it's
rather late, the clock jumps in
leaps and bounds. As if
the halves of hours and the
chunks of ten
are swallowed by that easy
StumbleUpon button or maybe by
my brain.

This is the point of tired when
all the nightmares and daymares and
scary, lonely dreams-to-be
come lurking in strange
ways. When I
can't place the reason for this
uncanny loneliness eating at my soul.
I keep searching for something -
for anything, if I'm honest -
that will make me
laugh once more, then I
will surely sleep. But I
can't focus. And I can't find it.

I see my old friend, the one I
miss so much it hurts, but who
I haven't talked to in a while. I see
those phantom arguments that I
always win in the shower, and which I
would surely lose in reality. I see
all those moments in which pangs of
pain struck me, the ones that are
so easily ignored throughout the day,
and now they've piled up and I am
an insomniac.

I can't sleep.