I do not know what restful sleep is

I have to many memories that dance through my hair like little devils and climb into my ears to stab away at my mind during the quiet of the night when the moon is full

The radiance of the light shines into the sockets of my head and into the hollows of my heart, only to cast shadows in an empty cage that has grown cold in the absence of light

When I am awake my mind is like a pencil with nothing to put to paper only scratches of graphite so vain in there writing, so I do not know that as quickly as the sun sets a waterfall of feelings floods through my veins and bleeds onto the wallpaper in my head and down the walls

The tossing and the turning that my body does, a marathon of running, to get away from all that is chasing me and trying to peg me to a board of doubts and dreams, a torture rack of sorts

But, when I sleep next to you and my eyes pop open in the middle of the night and my hands shake with anxiety, when I turn over in the darkness and feel your body next to me, I have something to cling to besides the darkness eating away at me, just a little bit of light to get through the cracks in my facade

So I can close my eyes again, take a breath and sleep, and know that everything will be okay