Some people endeavor to portray a persona.
Some people perpetuate the beliefs of their parents.
Some people pretend to be somebody they've seen on TV.
Some people have trouble accepting that they're actually existing.
Some people perceive themselves as being unlike anyone else.
Some people have an aversion to personality profiling.
Some people just can't help themselves.
Some people feel a need to place everyone they've ever known into categories.

The hypersomniac that could not sleeping staring into an abyss . 
Staring at the darkness trying to figure out where it all went. 
The hypersomniac  thought of you. 
Thoughts of you, kept her alive rather than just of existence. 
Thoughts, imagery, emotions ; you. 
The hypersomniac. 
 My hypersomniac that could not sleep. 
Staring into my eyes. 
My eyes, the void, seeing something of worth, a gem. 
My hypersomniac saw me. 
my hypersomniac, i love her. 
my hands; her cradle. 
rock-a-bye baby. 
 I will put you to sleep.
 I will keep your heart at bay, at ease. 
I will hold you. 
I will love you.

You can say you know me
Every little idiosyncrasy, habit and ritual
That you see me do

You can say you know me
Based on the demographic
Of the people I am with

You can say you know me
Because you have watched me cry
And heard me yell in anger

You can say you know me
Because you gave birth to me
Because you created my existence

But until you can say
"I held you rocked you fed you,
sang to you hugged you loved you"

Then you will never know me

They said, I should pretend that she was sleeping
That dying wasn't so bad
And I should have faith,
Hope,
That she would wake up
To cradle me in her arms again

But she didn't.
The tubes crawling under her skin
Only grew in numbers.

This would be her fight
Struggling by herself
Her foes outnumbering her
Slithering down her throat
Suffocating her,
They make her breathe
Gliding under her soft skin,
They are nourishing her

They are inside of her!

She looks like life has almost left her,
And now, the snakes **** out the last of all that is her
Her warmth
Her softness
Her plumpness
They say it isn’t so
But I am not blind

They say, it might not be too late,
But only Rigor Mortis is late
Nonetheless, he will come
Along with his hooded brother
Just because her limbs are not stiff
Does not mean she hasn’t passed *limbo