She hasn’t fallen asleep
since she mastered
the art of passing out,
Hating the required effort,
she clings to wakefulness,
until her synapses collapse.
Passive procrastination at best,
her active avoidance of rest,
stems from the fear
of being absolutely alone,
void of distractions,
haunted by heaviness.
Memories that hide,
in her subconscious,
are spilling onto her bed,
Out of her ears,
Out of her eyes,
Onto her pillow.
Comfort is the danger,
So her guard remains,
And safety is couch,
So rather than fade away,
She eventually just passes out.