Sleepless agony, to lie and claw at
Air, to gasp for dreams, to drift through flickering
Lives of might-have-beens, which pry and draw at
Odds with shifting currents where the sickening
Bends return you, stepping in that stream
And stepping in that stream again, again,
Against your will and stepping in that stream
Until a thousand pointless lives of men
(Which are your own if you will only own
Them so) pass by you, and the night is thick
With living and reliving, and you, prone
Beneath the weight of thoughts and waiting, sick
For sleep, can only flail and burn and ache,
Reaching, dreaming, praying, breathing, “Wake.”
