Vent

Sleep

I'm fairly used to sleeping on my own

No one to turn to, no places to run

Stuck in a soft, sinking tomb, drifting and spinning

Countless nights where my only companion was the

glimmer of moonlight peaking through the curtains,

or my imagination that cruelly reminds me of the 

grueling burden of carrying everything on my own

I'm fairly used to sleeping on my own

No one to turn to, no place to call home

Snared by somber solitude slumber

So silly, it would seem, that I'm hung up by this

I'm fairly used to sleeping on my own

My soul slipping, dripping and dropping

Creating a pool beneath my feet that I can

never baptize myself in

A hole in my chest the size of his hands,

placed within another's

So stupid

I'm fairly used to sleeping on my own

it sucks