Sleep never fell on me like I stumble over it.
Dusty sheets and stale mattresses. The wrong kind of crunch in my back.
Hard cotton and cramped legs. Hard sawed, knotted logs.
Sticky dreams and sour heartbeats. Tightly wound oversized shirts.
Stiff timber and cold breezed bones. A chilled snore of breath.
And that was just the first round.
Falling clouds and shouting gasps. A shorter series of muddled sleeps.
Restless hope and paralyzed hallucination. Stuck behind crusty closed eyes.
Sweaty mumbles and pulsating heat. A tossing of tangled blankets.
Snarled hair and rushing blood. A cry smothered by the night.
Wide eyes and broken beginnings. An undaunted morning light.
Uneasy skin and a slumped skeleton. A shuffle of cold, bare feet.
Stiff, broken, movement.
A harsh awakening – to what I already know.