Late at night, when dreaming is nothing but a tease, the weight of expectations (real and imagined) hold me in an unwanted bondage, tethering me too tightly to consciousness. Whisper soft murmurs of doubts and past missteps meandering around my insides, causing me to shake uncontrollably. I close my eyes tightly, try to smooth out the edges with storytelling and happy recalls; sometimes even song lyrics recited over and again. But my subconscious, she betrays me, showing unwanted films on the back of each of my eyelids.

The flickers of light leave me blinded. Squinting, I try to recognize the supporting characters around me. I am scantily dressed and overheated as I wander through the plots and locations my psyche has scouted out for me. Somewhere in the shadows there are always hands tugging , and voices demanding. Always in the background someone is leaving me. I can feel the trickle of sweat snake across my skin, my mouth going dry, and desire (or is it desperation?) rattle my pulse to a echoing thum-thum-thump.

Is this sleep, or is this middle of the night waking hours? Is there no exit sign or light to push toward? Is there no satisfaction once the city lights go out for sleepless souls, like me?