S-l-e-e...

Sleep comes to me in bits in pieces.

Night crawls into my window and soon, yawns are torn from my lungs like blood from the throat of prey (9:53 pm).They come in gusts of drowsiness, lulling my eyelids down like a winding toy, and I fall into the clutches of unconsciousness.

But sleep does not come that easily.

I fly awake, falling underneath the covers of my bed and looking around wildly, searching for a dream that has already hidden. The room is painted in shadows, and a crack of false light peers through the side of the door. My phone lights up at my touch; 1:19 am.

Sleep reaches for me in leaps and bounds.

This time, sleep drifts away from me - I find myself awakening like clockwork, the shadows pale against my bed sheets. The walls hang gaunt around me, the floor ominous. Light slices through the clock. 2:47 am.

S-l-e-e - it never stays for long enough.

Warmth grows annoyed, gathering its strength and shaking me awake. My sweater presses in on me, and the blanket encloses my body in a heat-emitting cocoon. I peel the sweater away from my skin, tossing it to the floor as air ripples underneath the sheets. My hair slips into my mouth, and I use sleep-clenched fingers to pull it out (4:02 am).

Sleep is a flyaway thread on my tired clothes.

I am awake before I am anything else. This time, dawn comes like a pale beast to my room; the walls take on a queer grey form and the door looks solemn in front of me. The tip of my nose is unfeeling while the tips of my toes are wriggling. My eyes watch the light pooling from underneath the curtains, and I see the light breathe onto the clock. 5:54 am.

Sleep is a missing puzzle to me.

I shock awake, fizzing and burning like short-circuiting wires in annoyance. My alarm shakes the mattress with vibrations and bells, and sleep-bleared fingers fumble to turn it off (6:40 am).

Sleep smiles at me; a never ending teasing game.

Warm words tug me away from my pillow; my mother always makes sure I am awake by 7am. Musn't be late for school.
My toes curl against the cold floor as I tug the curtains open; a habit of mine ever since I moved in to the room. Cold morning light crawls into my window and soon, I will have to tiptoe with sleep once more.

The End

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