Less Of Me Each Morning Poem, by Anthony Hanible, at My poetic side

I lie awake again

Caught in the thin place

Between breath and forgetting

Where the dark listens

And the ceiling waits

For me to blink first

Sleep doesn’t arrive

It claims me

A quiet hand over my eyes

A slow command

To go under

Whether I’m ready or not

And every time I surface

I return smaller

Edges smudged

Voice dimmed

A little more ghost

Than the night before

Morning lifts me

But something stays behind

In the undertow

By noon I’m a flicker

A half lit version

Of whatever I was yesterday

Night finds me unraveling

Still awake

Still thinning out

Still waiting for the moment

Sleep decides

To put me down

And when it does

I fall

Soft

Silent

Vanishing through myself

One dream at a time

Less Of Me Each Morning