There used to be safety in the moment when my head would meet my pillow; a comfort in sleep discovered. I'm finding that this is no longer true. Sleep is the fugitive I so violently seek.
It seems that as soon as I try to rest my tired eyes that I am assailed by the vivid memories which wait just beneath the delicate haze of my fatigue. My minds eye is forcefully commandeered by bright scenes set on repeat. Looking around I'm suddenly realizing that I'm the only one in this theater. The screen is larger than life and I'm front and center; paralyzed by my own need to remain.
This is a silent film, yet still the empty space cannot help but pull sound from this quiet, my chest rising and falling to the rhythm of the running color before me. Rebellious tears liberally traverse my porcelain skin, falling noiselessly upon the hands that rest in my lap. Shadows play upon my face as the figures on the screen before me dance between the darkness and the light. I am held in timeless reminiscence; caught in the layers of my blurred consciousness. This is where agony earns it's infamy.
The moment I catch up with the fleeing feet of sleep the room I'm in suddenly vanishes and my minds eye succumbs to the coma I so desperately seek.
Now you could tell me to direct my mind elsewhere, and you'd probably be right, but I'm finding it to be harder than my preconceived "three step guide to stewarding your thoughts" that I had prescribed for myself. Maybe I've been foolish or maybe just not as strong as I wanted to be, but still, I'm not giving up... Don't worry.
In the meantime, I chase sleep and hide from my dreams.
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