They call it \"falling asleep\"
But it\'s less of an accident,
Not a \"whoopsie daisy\"
Or a casual stumble on the way home from the school you\'ve worked at for ten hours
Or even bifurcating your hand on the saw your daddy left out in the musty garage you used to pretend was a spaceship, blasting stars from the night sky.
It\'s more of a \"hold you hostage\" kind of thing.
\"Grab your throat and hold you down and keep pumping until the tears dry\" way of thinking
Sigh a soft gasp as the air leaves your chest as you fall alone from the Elder Bridge at 2 in the morning.
Let the water fill the hole where your stomach used to be and pretend that the coming oblivion was worth the wait.
Maybe the nightmares of falling will be the dreams of flight you\'ve heard of on the internet.
Maybe sleep isn\'t any of those things.
Maybe it\'s just the stories we tell our children,
Watch their doughy faces puff up with unrighteous indignation at the thought of someone doing them the discourtesy of lying to them,
And we all pretend that shutting down every night,
Like the server hosting the codes to the hunks of radiation that will one day cover the earth in a haze of smoke and fire,
Is natural.
And that we don\'t die a little each time we do it.