What is Sleep

I feel like sleep isn’t a state of being or verb but a thing. An animal, a monster, a consumer. I feel like sleep wasn’t made to be peaceful, to be enjoyed, to be sought. I feel like sleep gnaws at my bones, my eyes, my mind. I feel like sleep is meant to be guarded against, to be detested and shunned, to be considered sacred. I feel like sleep is a god of death toying with my mortality, enjoying all the times I slip into its embrace and breathe for what could always be the last time, should it have the whim.