Sleep is for the weak.
I say this to myself every night.

I do everything I can to stay awake.
And the bags under my eyes tell all.

When I start to drift off, I slap my cheek.
If I get too comfortable, the cold of the freezer provides enough bite.

To avoid the land of sleep, I need some kind of pain to leave an ache.
But no matter what I do, I succumb, close my eyes, and fall.

In my dreams, all of my demons come alive.
Every time, I just want to die, but I know I must survive.