Insomnia

I don't bother fluffing my pillow anymore.

The depression in the curvature of my pillow is deeper than any sleep I've had in years. 

I lay still staring at nothingness in the dark,

because changing sides is a practice long abandoned.

I watch the night mature.

I watch as it gives birth to dawn, and then dies;

only to be reborn again.

Oh, but to me it isn't night.

It's morning without light.