Endlessness, Nothingness and all my thoughts while I sleep.

All I wanted to do was fall asleep. Instead
like all broken things I was stuck
thinking, analyzing, repeating, my thoughts
becoming chants and never stopping. 
Ugly, pretty, complicated, simple, the thoughts
poured in and receded, oceanic waves 
of nothingness in my mind. Everything
was determined by what I was thinking and what I would be thinking
in thirty seconds, if my brain
could even focus for that long.
I wanted the pillow to take away the pain 
of not sleeping and I wanted
the covers to hide me from reality, but as most inanimate objects
prove to be,
they were useless. Comforting, but
inherently useless.

Endlessness creates a sensation of dying, 
I think. It’s why when I sleep through the night
I feel as if I was reborn into a different world, that 
my soul healed a little in the darkness, the useless
objects of comfort cradling me like a baby, contesting
their worth.

Nothingness creates the sensation of dying, I thought
as I continued to think, wishing 
that sleep would finitely take over my brain so that I could sleep and breathe
and allow everything to pause for a moment in 
silence.

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