Frozen Peas and Broken Knees

No rest for the wicked

I went up to my room and cried for an hour.
Cried over the sleep that had been taken from me.
Cried over the weeks without peace.
Cried over the fact that I was finally peacefully asleep for the first time in weeks.

Highly medicated and constantly fighting myself for some shut eye.
I cry for the fact that I had it in my grasp and now it's gone.
Do you know what it's like?
To force yourself to become unconscious?
To stay up for days at a time?
To be afraid to close your eyes for fear that you will be put back in a state of half awareness?

I fall into hysterics at least twice a week.
Always tired.
Always drained.
You call it 'sleep.'
I call it pain.
Have you sat in silence for hours in the dark, hoping that sleep might claim you for a few minutes longer?
For most people it comes naturally.
For me it's a rare treat.
Half moons of black and purple are permanently tattooed under my eyes, to remind me of the curse that follows me.

Fuck you.

Wake me up out of my first peaceful sleep in months.
I haven't fallen asleep naturally in almost a year.
And yet, you wake me up.
You poke and you prod.
Then your prodigies poke and prod and kick and yell at my body curled against the floor.
You wouldn't do that to anyone else here. You wouldn't wake up anyone else here,
So why me?

I'm hurt.
So hurt.
"No one notices and no one cares." I say as I slip away from the crowd.
You try to deny it but we both know it's true.

But oh well.
I guess there no use in worrying over lost sleep.
Right?