insomnia.

I don't sleep.

I once read something weird. It was by an author from an exotic sounding place. A crisp 126 pages. It's about a lunatic on an island. Trying desperately to prove his love to a woman who is incapable of grasping his existence. Love drives one desperate. He says

Now the nightmare continues. I am a failure, and now I even tell my dreams. I want to wake up, but I am confronted with the sort of resistance that keeps us from freeing ourselves from our most atrocious dreams.

To lay down to sleep. To leave all distractions. To confront oneself.

Fuck.

I forgot.

Subtext.

I can't sleep.

Wait.

No.

He can't sleep.

He is beset by nightmares. Living nightmares. Memories. Regrets. He twists and turns wanting to go to sleep. To be nonexistent for a short time, unaware of life's anxieties. But the next day awaits him. Its hungry. It will eat him.

Tomorrow.

The word is like a curse to him.

Tomorrow, he must confront the life beyond the protection of his delusions.

The world curses him.

And maybe it is here.

He smiles.

His eyelids become heavy. Its impossible to keep them open. His thoughts sway as he bobs up and down between consciousness and freedom. Sleep is bliss.

It envelops him.

Tomorrow does not exist in dreamland.