We don’t usually see each other,
I’m asleep, dreaming myself a superhero, or a maybe a victim
You creep around, so as not to wake me,
envelopment in the warmth that comes from the layers and layers
I have stacked on my body
gently rippling like a sheet in a warm summer breeze.

But occasionally we meet,
my tired eyes still open wide searching for a focus point
my fingers moving lazily across the keyboard
drunk from a mix of one part darkness, three parts chill,
hitting letters to form words in a language I can assume is only understood by gods.
In you creep, slowly growing as the twinkling lights on the sidewalk
blink out,
one
by one,
hiding whatever the darkness holds.

You lose you warmth,
become a ghost passing through and chilling my bones
putting knots in my spine, hunching me over,
my legs become twisted and contorted under me
as you slowly **** the life out of one foot
sticking it with a million little needles

This is your invitation to sleep,
by making consciousness so unbearable
that every blink becomes longer, as if trying to escape whatever reality
I’ve been forced to stay up with this long.

You lay me down, pull up the covers,
holding me gently like a lover
letting me rest
letting me escape
letting me sleep.