I couldn’t sleep. I suffered severe insomnia. Lullaby that puts me to sleep didn’t work anymore. I tried humming it in my head. I still couldn’t sleep. It is 2.15am. I paced up and down in the limited space, waiting for my laptop to warm up. I need to type it out, whatever it is, in my head. I slowed my breath to slow my heart beat.
My physical being is weak and craves for hibernation. My mental being is alert and craves for attention. If this continues an longer I could suffocate of too much waking seconds. The more I am awake I think of the mere possibility of me dreaming. I can’t remember the visual I dream. It sounds very much like Masochist. I am no killer. I only suffer insomnia. A condition I have little control of.
I had on my earphone. It broadcasted the accommodating deejay. Her voice is soothing. I went on to take a leak, brush my 32 count of teeth again, and pace down more so that I could pace up more. I like the sound of the strokes of brushing. It is the only moment that I could hear the softness of it on the toughening rows. I also like the sound of the gurgle of tap water. it differs from the droplets of rain I heard in the evening. It plays sparingly in the hollowness of my oral.
I legged pass the alley to the stand. I commuted. I stationed. I work. Now is 2.15pm — exactly twelve restless hours. I yawn and yawn yet I can’t sleep. I can pop the bitter sweet pill and end the torture. I am scared.
At least the eye cream works. I don’t look one bit tired or show any sign of sleepless nights. The teabags are safe for the time being. More so I rather have coffee than tea. Wakefulness is hunting within me. It hurts to be constantly preyed at. It frightens me more than not able to be sober. No liquor heals. No warm milk comforts.
I… sleep… with… my eyes… open. But I am not comatose.
