I am never sleeping, always walking. Always laying upside down on a topsy-turvy axis and spinning uncontrollably is this tortured mind. It’s humorous how the darkness makes you afraid of the most passive objects, for instance yourself.
I shuffle around the room, lightly bumping into the native shadows I hadn't noticed once before. Groping the covers that have fallen on the cold ground, I wonder if the spatial plain is gratuitous in receiving my protection from the darkening condemnation. The fear of monstrous demons prevents me from sleeping. The absence of sleep allows me to freely lay awake, to feel the cool breeze of death sweep over my person on chilling and lonely nights. Could I find comfort in a stranger’s face who hides somewhere within this space? I cannot help but wander for them, forever attempting -blindly awaiting- to find someone who’s surely not there. Forever searching, never discovering.
A thousand forms of fear devour on the flesh that is afraid of its own existence. To my deepest sorrow, the pitch blackness gives me no refuge in trying to run away from myself. The tall, corrupted angels hide in plain sight and wait for me to trip. These wells have dried behind my eyes, no tears are left to show emotion. The fear and sadness have been drained from every smooth corner of my mind, leaving a hollow place for terrors to be conceived.
It is strange how nighttime brings about cold. Not a fire could warm you, not a blanket could disperse the goose bumps from your skin. Ice just lightly pierces the masses held together by ligaments and muscle. The blazing cold stops me as I gently rock back and forth on the floor. It is equally as strange how the nighttime brings about fear. What is it about the everlasting curiosity that keeps the foolish wanderers dancing back to a stage that no longer welcomes them?
I attempt to drive the sorrows away with screams that fuel the midnight moon; with desperate pleas that create the star’s unmistakable glimmer. Just a gleam from some light, artificial or otherwise, could bring back the confidence of a morning smile. But I and the bulbs, sitting mockingly in their sockets, are burned out on wasted thoughts and self convinced lies.