My tiredness is a physical presence behind my eyes. The presence is a present I undervalue and reject.
"Be careful what you wish for."
I long to be quelled to sleep but its messenger is a tidal wave I bear the brunt of, refusing to be submerged. Just stubborn. Just something.
I'm not sure if it's my psyche or the echo of my mom telling me I am never grateful enough. Even now, the corporeal manifestation of my exhaustion cannot subdue me to sleep. It's me; I am the testimony of my homeostatic drives. I fail to lay myself to sleep. I fail to plead guilty to my visceral, insatiable emotions. I fail to bear witness to my own shortcomings.
And now I'm just fucking pissed.
