Sleep is elusive. Hides in the back of my mind behind the myraid of fears I didn't know I have. I know I should sleep and

Sleep is elusive. Hides in the back of my mind behind the myraid of fears I didn't know I have. I know I should sleep and

Sleep is elusive. Hides in the back of my mind behind the myraid of fears I didn’t know I have. I know I should sleep and for brief periods I do. I sleep barely enough to be functional but not enough to be truly rested. Something so basic, so easy to do, and I can’t even do that. I feel like an exhausted failure every day of my life. My mind, which I have always known as a peculiar thing, lately won’t turn off. I wonder if it feels, like I do, the clock ticking more loudly of late. Mortality rears its ugly head, so I have taken to the pen since lying in bed, wide awake, and I lie here and think so many things, some important, some bizarre and I write and I write and I cry.

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