You can't do it, you can't do THAT. You can't say hey sleep, yeah dude, you suck, so like, yeah. It is not your right, you can't tell sleep it's not worthy, you can't rage at sleep with unholy intensity just because YOU don't happen to LIKE sleep. WELL LET ME TELL YOU, sleep doesn't like YOU either, mister SMARTY PANTS. (Or mrs., respectively, like in pac man).

AND ANOTHER THING. Mrs. PacMan LOVES sleep, you hear me and she won't let you keep it from everyone, and niether will Mr. PacMan because he loves Mrs. PacMan 'cause she gives him pac'y head. (Have you seen the size of her mouth? YEAH, think about that one, spanky. Though.. she doesn't kind of chomp down and.. well, yeah. Whatever, you know?)

Seriously, though, I don't want to see any of this nonsensical, unfounded VIOLENCE AGAINST SLEEP. Well, I guess it's not really violence, it's blessed angst or something. Sleep is very fragile, as are the emotions of people who love sleep but don't get enough of it. So, yeah, like, don't do that and shit you know just leave the sleep alone man just back the hell off.

You can't tell sleep reputation to go down, it goes wherever it wants and there ain't nobody gonna stop it you hear me 'cause it's got the bomb.. no, no that's the United States, but I hear they're close, like real tight and shit so watch yourself man.

Duuuddde, you gotta see the sun it's like wave'y and shit on the highway or sommethinnnng. Tripppppppy.
I can't sleep when you're not here
and you haven't been gone that long
How is it that I've grown so used to you
both of us used up in our days

I wriggle with the antennae
to project a clearer picture
all lines, corrugated pixels, snow
stand up to greet me where there is no rain

your breathing is an elixir
I am drunk on the void and still cannot sleep
I am too old to still fear the dark
all lights on, too bright, but it's safe now

I fumble on the couch so as not to note your side empty
lurking there behind me, bed rolled up and away
my eyes burn when I blink, when so easily before
I could sleep because you were sleeping

I have to wear myself down now, grinding
that laughing recognition of what is not there
and what is not rest in the face of better sense
when my senses detect all the wrong things:

your shoes in my closet, your stack of books, waiting
and all those pithy wonderings, if you are there somewhere
wishing you could be here too...
make your way home, for as long as this is your home

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