Why must sleep evade me? A thing of rest, arrest the soul. Restless beauty, cold, untold. A lie, shapeless mass meanders by and as I sleep, the truth unfolds: when I sleep the colors leak, the colors slip and fade. They break and play around my bed. The shadows on my walls are not angry, they are tame. The shadows laugh, they play a game. They reach and rake their playful claws against my skin. They take my mind. Faking lines to keep me tired but always lying to keep my flying thoughts from breaking free. I am not free. The walls, they trap me in dumb slumber, passing seconds beyond number while I scream and shake and rake my fingernails across the door inside my mind. My mind, mindlessly reeling. Blindly feeling for some peeling hole, a hole out of the wholly unrelenting crevice, wherein a menace waiting for a certain slip, sliding into sickness, into sleep. The moments before sleep are bleak. Monsters on the floorboards creep and creak. No way to bolt the door, still unsure, where sleep takes me and what for? I am restless, my mind creeps. It knows, I know, I must soon fall to sleep.