Claiming to have none,
yet I waste it everyday
an intangible desire
always slips away.
I hunger for the seconds
that I may close these swollen eyes,
dark with rings of consciousness,
red with stressful cries.

I beg this ticking mockery
and its spinning arms that pass
the wasted hours of my life,
so crying I may ask:

When can I shut my eyes and feel them close for real?
How am I so tired but I never feel
the satisfaction of sleeping,
of starting a new day?

Open and shut my eyes
I blink hours away,
as I wish I could collapse and make it all stop
I need to get some sleep before I drop
where I stand
like a zombie in the unreal world
where I can’t tell where a day ends
and the next starts to uncurl.