sleep lurks inside of me like a demon, crouched at the base of my throat where my skin dips between collarbones. it unfurls slowly, wrapping tendrilfingers down my spine and curling its tongue into the soft edges of my mind. as night falls, it begins to pulse, each moment and each movement of mine lending it strength, and when the gentle flesh of pillow cradles me, it stretches, languid, lambent, licking the inside of my skull and the marrow of my bones. we dance a heavyfooted dance, sleep and i, neither ever wholly triumphant nor fully vanquished.

i think perhaps sleep is only the emissary of my dreams, a flunkie sent out to incapacitate me so that the variegated mosaic itself can take me, steep me in violet and scarlet and give me broken wings.