Sleepless

Sleepless

"Sleep is for the weak,"

I chuckle, noticing the clock has hit 3:43 on my laptop.

Reaching for the broken handle on my mug,

I almost cut myself, on the sharp edges

of the stars shining above.

But it's a starless night, or yet I just can't see any,

for the blinds on my windows have readied the room,

to fall asleep.

"Sleep is for the weak?"

I ask the demons in the shape of my own regrets and pain,

Hanging around near me on the armchair that I got from my old mentor,

who I haven't talked to for almost a year,

for they are the only company that I have

this late night.

"Sleep is for the weak."

I whisper, as I scroll through my social media,

hoping for an answer that might just last long enough for the sun to rise.

And as if my loneliness has been lifted,

my phone dies, and all that is left,

is the darkness from the void that always seems to avert my gaze.

My eyes start to burn, from the agonizing but refreshing tears

come oozing from the leaky faucet in the small apartment

I can hardly afford.

Drop by drop.

"Please. Let me sleep."