Not a lullaby.

I don’t sleep anymore.  I can’t stand the loss of control.  No matter how tired I am at night, I fight sleep.  I keep my eyes open.  I remain alert.  I watch the sky turn varying shades of blue outside my window.  I fight and I win.  I am quite skilled in conquering sleep.  I honed my skills as a child.  I didn’t like to sleep then either.  Being awake seemed like the easiest thing to control and control was key.  I learned to wait out the darkness because in its nothingness I was always sure there was something.  I hate the way darkness creaks and moans.  I hate the way it lurks and looms.  I hate the quietness of it and I hate the possibility of something interrupting the quiet.  Nothing good happens in the dark.  I like to have sex with the lights on.  

So I don’t sleep -- not really.  Sometimes I nap.  And sometimes I get so tired that I dream while I’m awake.  I have half-awake dreams about having nightmares.  And accidental nap dreams about waiting for you and being attacked in the meantime.  I’m never as good a fighter as I need to be in my dreams and you’re always just an idea that never materializes in time.

I don’t think very well without sleep. I’m terrified of everyone except my bartender.  And I can’t tell time anymore.  4a.m. feels just like 2p.m.  Tuesdays feel like Saturdays.  I don’t miss you anymore because in controlling sleep I control time, or maybe I just begin to exist outside of it.  Outside of where we happened.  Outside of where anything can ever happen to me.  Maybe I am out of it.  In my sleeplessness, we’re timeless.  Maybe I’m really afraid of time.