I often don’t wake up on my bed
The chrysalis of my blanket gone,
The bedhead replaced by
Or the couchneck
Or the closetleg
Long before the desultory opening of my eyes.
I like walking,
I am not sure if I like it as much to trade it for sleep.
I also like running away,
From a constant war of nothingness
So maybe, each night I wage a battle against myself
And run away from nothingness.
But even though
I win the battles of the night,
I lose the war of the day.