Sleep. I cannot keep it. I cannot find it.

I long to hold on. To experience the sweet sensation of a satisfying sleep.

It is a shadow laughing, and taunting. Escaping my grasp relentlessly.

Pillow. I turn it over, goose bumps latching on to me. The coldness is refreshing and reviving. I long for it to drain my mind of its thoughts, perhaps I can then regain the peace I once knew.

I throw my pillow on the ground, agitated, frustrated. My bed creaks in response to my outburst. Overwhelmed by the hatred towards this innocent object. I sullenly pick it up expressing a genuine apology. I chuckle at how foolish I must look,if someone was to enter my room whilst I was apologizing to my pillow.

Bed. I crawl back to it, welcoming the warmth that comes with it. I become cuccooned within the blankets, drifting in and out of sleep. I mistake the sheets for a person holding me tightly, I panic and turn over, landing on the floor. I curse under my breath and roll up with whatever elegance I possess. None. I stumble around in the dark blindly, attempting to find the warm embrace that once held me.

Dream catchers. The sudden chimes of them fill me with hope. My hand brushes them lightly and I listen to the delicate tune of them as they attempt to lull me to sleep;

“Native Americans believe the night air is filled with dreams both good and bad. The dream catcher when hung over or near a bed swinging freely in the air, catches the dreams as they flow by. The good dreams know how to pass through the dream catcher, slipping through the outer holes and slide down the soft feathers so gently that many times the sleeper does not know that he/she is dreaming. The bad dreams not knowing the way get tangled in the dream catcher and perish with the first light of the new day.”

I am morphing into a dream catcher my thoughts a tangled mess. Yet the ink engraved on my skin of this beautiful intricate design, and dream catcher cannot tame or calm my thoughts.

Each second that passes is engraved on my clock.

Tick. A reminder of my failure to sleep.

Tick. Think of nothing.

Tick. 10pm

Tick. 3am.

Tick. I wonder what I shall eat for breakfast.

Tick. Whatever it will be I look forward to it.

Tick. Think of nothing.

Tick. To think of nothing requires thinking in the first place.

Tick. The tick grows louder.

TICK. I try to reach it, to stop the unbearble sound. It jumps back in suprise, falling to the ground in defeat.


Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder what you are.

I look at the stars on my ceiling, and the beauty of such simplicity. My mind wanders imagining what it would be like to be gifted a star with my own name on it. How can something so extravagant be captured in someones hand onto a piece of paper. As if it is something insignificant like a vegetable that can be so easily named. It is like trying to hold the moon in ones hand.

When you wish upon a star your dreams come true.

I want to sleep. I am wishing upon this star. Yet this dream does not become true. I slam my eyes shut with sheer determination. Flashes of colours begin to dance before me. Memorizing. Captivating.

What a strange sensation. To the world I am asleep. To myself I am wide awake. The more I focus on keeping my eyes shut the more strange patterns and colours there are. The borderline between reality and hallucination.

I scrunch up my eyes. Headache. Heavy eyes.

We lovingly say “Good night” to one another. I can utter it, but it is far from what my nights are. I resort to a form of meditation.

Relax. Your whole body.

Breath. In. Out.

Listen. I am engulfed in a comforting familiar embrace. Haunting melodies. Music. My only remedy.

Calm. We morph into one my breathing falls into time with the song that gently plays.

I’ve been wondering just how long I can stay awake,
Before my eyes start to bleed.

Sleep. It is neither within my reach, nor is it within my grasp.

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