The weary bones of sleep closed its long fingers around my eyes. I could feel the coldness--- almost harsh--- inside every gnarled bone. My eyes felt like a million bees buzzing agitatedly. My eyelids felt like a show curtain at the end of a show. I could feel the tremors of sleep deep beneath my flesh. A ghastly hollowness floated around my head, bouncing against its flimsy walls.
My hands shook with an uncertainty. It doesn’t know whether to curl up into a ball and die or stay placid until… until…
The world hummed and rung--- a shrill ringing--- as the edges of it blurred and peeled and floated in and out. I was in a dream where everything real was an illusion and all that was false was true. That wasn’t a dream. Was it? It’s true. What’s true?
Another high ringing pierced my numbing head and I could’ve sworn I saw something dancing--- no, blurring, no, killing--- in the corner of my eye. A fire, red and hateful, burned at the edges of my eyes. It snaked its way through my lashes and the veins inside. My irises felt like they were on fire.
My skin felt like brittle glass. Every step I took broke the glass in. I was bare, my muscles, arteries, organs were shown to the world. I felt so exposed and free. It was like I was drowning in the depths of a deafening sea. Sinking.
Sleep trailed its bony finger along my protruding spinal cord. I breathed out an icy sorrow and I watched it swirl in mid-air, turning inwards as if devouring itself. It was gone the moment it appeared.
My skin was pale moonlight shining over a dead body. I sought for sleep but it just trailed its fingers all over me, teasing and mocking. It never takes me in its grasp. The thought of being succumbed in darkness so pure and so death-like started a stirring in the pits of my heart.
I touched the white sheets on my unmade bed and saw the ghost of you lying inside the soft folds. Your eyelashes held the beads of your escaping dream and your mouth was delicately pulled back into a frown. I reached out to touch--- hold--- you but you turned into agonizing smoke the moment my nails scraped against your pale skin.
I didn’t want my eyes to steam so I held back the downpour of sorrow you left when you decided my unmade bed wasn’t good enough for you to sleep in.
Sleep--- it’s a luxury I couldn’t afford. My mind drowned out its numbing relief with talks of pain and misery.
The night pulsed with the promise of relief. That relief wasn’t for me.
My eyes were unblinking globes of remembrance in the darkness. I tore at my skin--- pale moonlight--- and watched rubies melt as they ran down my arm in rivulets, sizzling as they went.
Shining over a dead body.
I was the dead body. I felt dead from the tips of my brain to my uncut toenails. There’s nothing left inside me but yearning for – not you- sleep.
I tried to copy you, tried to copy how you would touch me but my clumsy hands felt like rotting leaves and I was disgusted. It only brought me to tears. My eyes steamed but my irises still burned even though all my sorrow for the day turned into water vapour the moment it surfaced.
I could still smell you in my old clothes and when I go someplace I could feel your hand holding mine. But…but… your hands were cold and they were slowly disappearing – skin cell by skin cell.
Sleep turned its deformed back on me and the only thing that helps are… are… I’m too ashamed to say.
I tried to sleep but sleep pushed me away just like what you did on my unmade bed that wasn’t good enough for you to sleep in.