I often don’t wake up on my bed

The chrysalis of my blanket gone,

The bedhead replaced by 

The floorback

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 myself 

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. 

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