Restless, sleep.

Wake and be fine. To lay in bed for hours on end, tossing and conciliating yourself into rest. My slumber has turned into a mean of escape. What good is there to help me rest more peacefully? There is none. Instead I have an overwhelming conscious of ways to leave, to try to make myself happy, or at least content but the contradicting asshole in the back of my head laughing at me knowing the actuality that I cannot be. The darkness of my room haunts me for no matter how hard I squint I still can never make out what it around me. It is the comparison to the truth I know but I never hope to see. My sleep is my escape. I do not dream anymore. Flight or fight, my body's reaction to make to attempts to see how things could really end. To wake and be fine, what a beautiful dream.