The World Inside My Mind

The Sound Of Mad Worlds

Eyes heavy
Lips dry, and pale, and fading into my face.
I pretend to be dead,
A game as old as time.
A lie.
A lie, obvious in its nature by the way my face sweats.
Each bead gathering in the creases time etches into everyone
I close my eyes for a moment,
Almost forgetting the trial I endure every night applies to this night too
One cannot fall asleep
I wish I could talk to darkness
As it lurks in each corner, it must know so much
But, alas, I lost my voice long ago.
I only sound I make now is the cough of a parched throat and the rustling of a pile of sheets I seem to bury myself under each night,
In the hope that they drown me while I sleep
A peaceful death

My head tiled back in a vague attempt to unblock my nose
A mundane tasks everyone seems to undergo
So mundane it seems stupid and futile
Why stop such a small inconvenience while the world flies through space, and yet my world is anchored in place
Why stop and life to fix the tiniest of cracks when I could be watching the stars slowly spin til they blur and drip down the paper and off the page into the abyss
I tilt my head back to its upright position

The silence holds its last note
And it resounds,
As some curtain falls, somewhere

I wetten my lips,
And although I can't see them
I know myself well enough to know that their redness returns, it floods back like blood
As if spit could polish skin

And now, as I my eyes begin to sting, a sure sign that I will succumb to unconsciousness soon enough - succumb, that is, in both senses - I face the same dilemma that I do every night.
Do I sleep, pull life forward, make it shorter, as I am sure as sinking I will not remember the night, or do I stay awake, pull myself upright? Delay the rising of the sun so I do not have to endure the pain of tomorrow?
As always, it is not truly up to me to decide.

A brief moment, of forgetting,
And I struggle to remember whether my heavy eyes are open or closed.
The darkness reaches in,
Grasping my sight by its whole and crushing it with the blink of - perhaps - an unseeing eye.
And yet my eyes are open.
A pity my mind does not learn.

I keep my breathing uneven
For no one can know what is to happen next
Not the watchers on the room,
Not even me
I must remind myself of that somehow.
And then I am gone.
After all that I ended up doing neither.
A failure.
I could not stay awake long enough to delay tomorrow,
And yet the stiffness of my eyes was enough to elongate life by those few desperate hours of painful awareness.
As always,
The dilemma is not truly in the night, in the going to sleep or not,
But I'm the morning.
Do I bother waking up?

(An: this is old but it's still good so whatever)