Scientists have not proved why we sleep, but we know it is part of living a fruitful life.
Sorrow sunk in — a deafening slumber.
I slept my way through reality.
"Sorrow kills the pain," I remembered.
What was the time when I fell asleep?
One, Two, Three, Four? I couldn't recall.
Memory seemed to have escaped me.
I've written many times on the wall.
Most of the markings are tally marks;
Corner to corner, wall to the hall.
One tally for every dream embarked.
One dream for every time I have slept.
One deep sleep for every eon sparked.
Often times, my dreams I could accept.
The others were too eerie to shake,
Too immensely horrifying to forget.
In those dreams I wished I could have waked,
Wished I had the power of lucidity;
I had no such strength to even fake.
I lose all assumptions of clarity,
Always seeing myself from afar,
In subconscious battle with the asperity.
Generally, my cell door remains ajar,
And I am free to leave at any time.
But that whole concept feels so bizarre.
Even with The Fear is at its prime,
Brutally consuming my very being,
I couldn't leave the love of my life.
Relaxed in the pain, constant breathing.
Free from a life of hard decisions.
Caprical continuance led me.
At all times, I had a companion.
Such a faithful comrade was she.
She always helped me when I asked.
Her name was Odessa; she was the key,
The key, I thought, to setting me free.