he thought it best
to never wake up,
not with what he'd been through,
not with what he'd seen.
his days were always long
and pestering
like a needle repeatedly
jabbed into
the skin,
made to hurt,
but leaving nothing more
than an annoyance
from the feelings he
didn't have.
and that was the smoke
that covered the sun,
filtering the vision
of something
brighter
that he just couldn't have.
the bed was soft and
swallowed his frame
and he found peace there
where the silence
entombed him.
the mantra he recited
night after night,
don't let me wake,
only made the next morning
all that much more intolerable.
and so he lived this way,
waiting for sleep,
napping when he could no longer
face
the world,
until one day,
he never had to awaken again.
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