I Versus the Return (to Sleep)

The exhaustion fills me,
not from prolonged fits of frustrations,
nor from seeing red,
or from boundless joy sent straight to the head,
but from a lack of sleep.

My head hits the pillow
and the world becomes vague within moments.
I sleep without realizing,
for no nighttime vagabonds wandering in the skies of the mind
come to visit me.

The morning comes too soon,
for my body has memorized the moment of the alarm
and rouses half an hour too early.
The hazy purgatory between the bed and the world
weigh upon me thickly.

I sit, throwing off the thin blanket
that had protected me during the night and I feel cold.
My skin crawls,
the air itself seeking to penetrate deep into my bones
and leave me chilled.

The bed is inviting,
beckoning me, its euphoric warmth so tempting.
But I resist
and replace the garb of the bed with that of the world
and I pry open my eyes to light.

The water is cold,
but unlike the invasive nip of the non-bed.
I draw breath deeply,
the scent of moonlight fading from my sensory organs,
and I anticipate its return.

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