Sleep is torment
for my body,
the outside trembling,
the inside terrifying.
The dreams wind through my brain,
Hypnos's thread wrapping tightly
around my head,
squeezing out all my creativity.
It dips and dives, 
the nonexistent memories
swirling in my conscience,
never to be explored
or mentioned to anyone.
No one would hear me
anyways.
And neither does the
deity of sleep
when I thrash,
pushing away those who slumber
at my side,
who are not privy of my torture.
My restful companion
gives me their recount:
two lives are lived simultaneously,
and though I am only knowledgeable
of the one which ran through my head,
there's only one that matters.
And she leaves,
right through the door,
taking nothing except my hope,
leaving everything including my heartache.
My head smacks the pillow again:
at least Hypnos won't leave me.