Nightly.

Most people see darkness when they shut their eyes. If only I could know what that is like. It takes me no less than three and a half hours of lying in pitch-black to

fall asleep at night. This is because I can not see darkness. I never have. My eyes birth gods and demons and artists to the absence of light. Worlds become and collapse

from my bedroom ceiling. Sometimes I am so sick of this that I keep awake for days at a time, hoping to simply lie my head down and let my mind silently disappear, if only for a moment or two.

It never works.

In fact, it seems to anger that part of me with which I so often conflict. It draws its sword and challenges a duel, though never do I know for what. So as we battle, I can only watch. It happens the same way every time. My senses beg me for oblivion, in the heaviest exhaustion. And so it is their blood that paints the floor. Despite their armored chests and stomachs, they always die together--- hand in hand, mouth to mouth. And as rays of sun begin to shine through the blinds, their very last shaky breath finally beckons sleep to me.