The waking will shake you
But it won't **** you
And soon you'll be so taken with reality
That falling asleep will be a torturous task
I'm laying on the floor at 1:37am
on a tuesday, or maybe wednesday.
the vents are reeking of that dog again.
Blanketed by only a scented candle
I see shadows, it resembles residue
a stained glass ceiling.
There is an ache between my shoulders
as I contemplate living, or sleeping
but that's always been the same thing.
As I listen to the showering upstairs,
I try to find ways to speak in words
that have nothing to do with you.
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Winter is the cold sleeping space
Between the blanket and the sky,
Between the legs falling asleep in warmth,
And the leaves turned to frost in twilight.
Dark of night surrounds me, pillow below my head.
How long the many hours since I tumbled onto my bed?
Mind so filled with thought that clearly has me stressed.
Racing, scattered thought that just wont let me rest.
Blanket that feels loose and shifts to feel oh so tight,
and so it sets the pattern for this never ending night.
I know that I must sleep before the rise again of the sun,
in a world that cant relent from insistence things must be done.
My body urgent in its craving to be silent and be still,
but my mind just wont give in possessing the stronger will.
A discomfort on my left side, so I roll again to my right.
Countless repetition through the hours of a god forsaken night.
Nothing that I do brings a sense my mind is nearing calm,
I must try to get some sleep before clock sounds its alarm.
So the hours go, too many hours surely for just one night,
but too late now to rest as window reveals dawns early light.
Oh too many nights like this....
Isn’t that what we all do?
We’re okay but we don’t think so
Minds getting hazy
A little bit crazy
Should we ask maybes
Or should we just stop talking?
I’ve been having a lot of arguments
In my head
I don’t know whose currently winning
A big joke that we make
We act we’re okay
But inside our soul is dead
Do we really heal or do we conceal?
Does time really heal or we get better at faking?
Are we really here or were just asleep dreaming?
I lost my daydreams for a while.
The bounce, the charm, the myrth, the smile.
All locked within the sleeping child
That I buried deep in the wild.
And yet, my fantasies resumed.
The undecayed body exhumed.
My girlhood rose from her repose,
The bright side of life to expose.
Perhaps, upon reflection, I may be getting a little better?
rest your sleepy head
your in no shape to make amends
I swear, all will be fine in the end
The winds are silent,
the waves crash low
Doubt no more that the world
will stream once more
Hear the chirping
sing to the humming
The nightingales are singing
I swear to you
All will be fine in the end
Now rest your sleepy head
the sun dies gently behind the hills as I
wander through the pastel cloud’s apricot-nuance
with floating eyes of vacant iridescence.
and the sky lost all of its mighty blue,
now glimmering in a nonchalantly lilac hue
one could only describe as the universe spilled passion.
darkness manifests on the canvas of atmosphere,
its golden streaks devoured by mischievous glee
and we all sigh and finally close our eyes.
so that this journey remains all that we see.
© fey (08/04/21)