Dark Lies

Each sleep falls flat on a nightmare
my mind feels deceived
over lies
the darkness forced me to believe

It's been ages
since I've gone to my bed
to lift the comforter of hope
over my aching head...
It's just not like that anymore

I suppose the shooting pain
came quick like a fallen light
once secure with unreachable height.
I was counting on those stars
 to stay where they were
but I lost count
and it all became a blur.

Each morning is a routine,
digesting time between sips of coffee
and the usual waking from a coma
to a list of personal questions
followed by groggy answers
 to assure the world
(or perhaps myself)
that I made it safely back

just in time for some philosophy:

who am I?
where am I?
Why am I here?

The answers never change
but the calendar flips
like one of those flick books,
turning pages to life;
though, my days are far less animated.

I think it hurts worse
not being far enough away
from how it used to be
so close
 the past doesn't even have to chase me.

The night and the memory
 must be co-conspirators;
they can both be
such slick intruders--
creeping in and waiting beneath my pillow,
all without a sound.

I used to be a fan of sleep
until dark lies
replaced lullabies.