  sometimes, when you lack a title, and sleeping pills, you come up with the following: Tuesday, October Tenth, Two-Thousand, Two-Fifty One A.M I have become compulsive. This lack of sleep sweet pillow dreams once tasted now out of reach is getting to my head. Suddenly I know that desperate secret of every person who has ever lost their mind. If I walk over to that pillow and touch it If i walk over to that pillow and lie my head there If I try to close my eyes and make the dreams come Your face will appear that face that I cannot let go of will hang over my eyelids and blister them, sweet memories turned to acid rain on my lashes seeping through my retinas and it is all on fire.
Turn the lights on, off, on again, repeat the cycle for the twelfth time in hopes that you will leave. I scream. It is slow, gutteral, starts from my belly and works up through my throat, out into the air. The bed mocks me with its invitation. It is now three am again and officially your birthday I would like to sleep to escape this moment but i am afraid of the dark and the dreams that seep in no matter how tightly i keep my eyelids closed. 
