Insomniac

I don't sleep.

Perhaps it's because 
I dare not miss a
single second of my
short existence.

Maybe it's because
I could care less about
what my body wants.

Could it just be a reason
as simple as the fact that those
birds outside my window are
chirping too much?

Or is the reason as complex as
this; I do not sleep, I
just dream. I dream of flooded
corridors of filth and wide open
plains of grassy green meadow
as far as the eye can see.

I dream of perfect love and dead
red doves because what else is  
someone like me to do at two in
the morning?

I grasp at our memories that tend
to slither away and I hope that this
time they want to stay, unlike you.
Maybe my thoughts wont swim, maybe
they will just drown with the rest of us.

I cannot sleep.
So instead, I dream.