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.