Sleep

I sometimes see sleep as a practice for death

One moment you're conscious, awake, 

Next thing you know you're knocked out cold, 

No control whatsoever. 

We see unrealistic things every night

We visit other worlds:

Our own personal heavens and hells.

We act like it's normal

We're living our own mini comatose every night.

It scares me what could happen

While I'm sleeping. 

You could walk into my room and I wouldn't know

Wouldn't have anything but tired, slowed-down defenses.

And someday

I'll fall asleep

And I won't 

Wake 

Up.