never again was what you swore the time before
The thing you have to know is that four days without sleep is enough to qualify a person as legally insane.
Electrodes have been hooked to mice to prove this. Fall asleep, get a shock.
Eventally, the hippocampus begins to deteriorate. Memory goes first. Faces, things you meant to do today, 8 x 7 = 56, where you put your keys. Where you live. Who you are.
Your focus will be off. Things a little blurrier. Reactions a little slower. Objects in your mind's eye may be closer than they appear.
This happens after four days.
After two months apparently you just stop waking up. Even when your eyes are open and you're dragging yourself around this obscene fucking parody of an apartment, you're asleep. The plus side is that after a while, shutting down is everything to be desired. The parts that you hate begin to close down in self defense. And if you have to sell your little light for this kind of peace, so be it. Here there is no one to protect from the dark.
Your alarm clock is a bleeding, terrified woman. So you find your way back through razorwire and unexpected jolts of angry light, and you claw your way out of your head, and you wake up.
After two months and and eight hours and eleven minutes, a smiling woman in a white gown clicks a needle and smiles at you. Her name is Robyn, stitched into the breast pocket of her uniform with bright blue thread. You want to tell her, that's where he removes your heart.
And you sleep. You sleep and you sleep and when you wake up someone is there. (Henry always with her, even when he is away she feels those little tugs like fists in her hair)
You sleep and when you wake up the light is different from the last time Robyn smiled at you. You sleep and when you wake up you hobble through white mazes behind white doors to tell your sons you're proud. When you wake up you tell your friends you love them. That you're grateful.
You sleep and when you wake up
if you wake up
You wake up and the only sound you can hear is the ceiling fan. You wake up and the windows won't open. You wake up and no one hears you scream.
Are you asleep? Have you slept?
You don't always know who you are when you wake up.
Electrodes have been hooked to mice to prove this. Fall asleep, get a shock.
Eventally, the hippocampus begins to deteriorate. Memory goes first. Faces, things you meant to do today, 8 x 7 = 56, where you put your keys. Where you live. Who you are.
Your focus will be off. Things a little blurrier. Reactions a little slower. Objects in your mind's eye may be closer than they appear.
This happens after four days.
After two months apparently you just stop waking up. Even when your eyes are open and you're dragging yourself around this obscene fucking parody of an apartment, you're asleep. The plus side is that after a while, shutting down is everything to be desired. The parts that you hate begin to close down in self defense. And if you have to sell your little light for this kind of peace, so be it. Here there is no one to protect from the dark.
Your alarm clock is a bleeding, terrified woman. So you find your way back through razorwire and unexpected jolts of angry light, and you claw your way out of your head, and you wake up.
After two months and and eight hours and eleven minutes, a smiling woman in a white gown clicks a needle and smiles at you. Her name is Robyn, stitched into the breast pocket of her uniform with bright blue thread. You want to tell her, that's where he removes your heart.
And you sleep. You sleep and you sleep and when you wake up someone is there. (Henry always with her, even when he is away she feels those little tugs like fists in her hair)
You sleep and when you wake up the light is different from the last time Robyn smiled at you. You sleep and when you wake up you hobble through white mazes behind white doors to tell your sons you're proud. When you wake up you tell your friends you love them. That you're grateful.
You sleep and when you wake up
if you wake up
You wake up and the only sound you can hear is the ceiling fan. You wake up and the windows won't open. You wake up and no one hears you scream.
Are you asleep? Have you slept?
You don't always know who you are when you wake up.