past-sleep

Sleep is sparse, but what else is new, besides the lack of oxygen passing through to my lungs. Its far too thick, like trying to pass through something solid, and it spreads upward, struggling. Clouding my head, it started while I rested in a foreign bed, dry dry air, hot burning feverish bodies, the smiles were gone for now, overcome by the waves of rest.

The soft music whispers thoughts of heat and intoxication, lazy days after late nights. If only I could burn alive in hell with you, desperate faces showing eyes so full of love never given. Don't let this become me, only tainted more cold and hard, you were telling so many lies, alas, I told so many lies. Now here I lie, but not with my words, with my body, in the shape of a mangled content, yet indifferent, human.

I still lay tossing and turning, the confinement of arms wrapped around me, a comfort and a curse, but back to the fact of simply, merely, figuratively, suffocating. The solidity of a human form raised questions once again, where's my emotion i'll wonder, again and again. He's pretending to hide his spite, annoyance, hollow inside, and I'm pretending to care, about being aware, of how sad our situation really is. The passing sun blends from night to a new dawn, I'll be gone by morning, I always am.