letters arranged like words arranged like poetry

"sunday night, monday night, tuesday to fri."

"At night, I'm truly alone.
the thin strands that tie the universe together unwind
their frayed legs hang over the bed, heads of cotton and the celestial unknown
resting together like comfortable allies.
I count seconds and fleeting sheep.
lack of sensation becomes my blanket. The world slowly fades into the cold fog of sleep
where the fulfillment we can never find while we wake
expands to encompass every inch of our bodiless dreams
and secretes sweet mystery into the eyes of the willing-
while tired warriors fight on, trying to dream while they wake

Just before i fall asleep, i feel it the worst,
a sick misfortune most unbearable.
as my eyes begin to close, i can just make out the highs i'll never reach-
a sea of happiness reserved for somebody else
with beaches of gold, love and contentment.
but mostly love,
her shifting veil taunts me most profoundly as it vibrates on the horizon
like those stillborn words on the tip of my tongue.
its a handshake between enemies, my emptiness and her wintry smile.

At night, were all truly alone
the sun that tries to comfort us, convince us were useful,
slinks out of sight, a failure. All that remains are his tears, hanging off the sky,
ready to drop at any moment and smother us to sleep, which is fine.
I dont want to be a tired warrior, i dont want to be awake fighting for the impossible;
to dream while i'm awake

just before i fall asleep, i feel it the worst
my eyes close.
maybes its the similarity between sleep and death that makes it such a relief to fall still.
after all, death is one goal ill surely reach, one god ill never fear.
I can hear his voice now:

'Wake up, its over'



'...Wake up... its all over'"

--Arron T. Danniet