I sit here, typing my random thoughts away, listening to music that screeches, challenges, pushes.

Every inch of my body is sore, I am chewing on the collar of my shirt, a habit I thought I had left behind in the distance of time.

Sleep is a million miles away, another world.

The world I am in is still, most of it outside my walls is sleeping. That late spring slumber, a cold night that follows a hot day.

The thoughts in my head won’t quiet, won’t slumber. They drown out the silence, fill the space.

I know that if I can find the right words, evoke the right spell, the demons will let me sleep. Maybe I need drugs, maybe I need to face my demons, maybe I need a stiff drink, I don’t know.

What I do know is that right now the idea of sleep seems both like the beckoning call of a lover, and like surrender, like letting the day win. At some point, I will have to let myself succumb, let myself let this go… but I’m fighting it, longing for it, denying it.

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