nightmares come before you sleep

silent dark
a low hum from behind the wall
as if someone sings to themselves

cool breeze from window
sheets wrinkled, weeks old
like rote sink face into pillow

feel something near
a shapeless shadow, a whisper
all around. just close your eyes

sleep is strange, you
yearn for its oblivion yet tire of it
a waste of time

but the oblivion slips away
a dozen vivid dreams each night
wake breathless from fighting

and fatigue is sweeter
when it is from deprivation
rather than satiation

wean yourself off everything
(except perhaps caffeine)
burn to the ground and revel in the ache

you were made to feel
and to exhaust yourself
but by god that is growing difficult

take away the sun and show me the stars
the darkness is my home
and I am weary of light.