This was both hard to name and hard to place. Where it should go was a big conundrum for me and what I should call it was an even bigger one. I suffer from Insomnia and what this was in the first two lines was going to be a description of what it's like and well I kind of spun off from my original intention and started talking about nights as a whole for me. I doubt this would be similar to everyone or even anyone with insomnia, it makes sense to me. Wonderland is just to state the extreme nature of the piece.
The tossing and turning never stopped, the night was a seemingly endless abyss of terror and sadness. I like the darkness, I never used to, but now it’s my friend – it calls to me and I call to it, that’s the way we like it. When I was younger I used to ask mother to keep the door open ajar, I would go into hysterics if she ever tried to close it, they terrified me, but now I know them and they know me, we’re in love you see. The demons at my door come knocking and I let them in, there’s no hiding from them, but there is the torment one gets when they are left at the door, that everlasting sadness that dwells over them like a cloud that sends thunderbolts out when it’s feeling a little extra peculiar. Let them in, it’s cold outside and they don’t like to be kept waiting, let them torment your life and see what they have in store for you, in the end the demons at the door aren’t even nearly as bad as the devil in the closet. I lied before, I do dream, I also nightmare, I usually nightmare, but I can never remember, well actually I do, it’s just what I remember that is the question on my mind. The dreams aren’t dreams in my mind, they’re memories, whether they happened or not – that doesn’t change the fact they are still memories. When daylight haunts the curtains and the drumroll starts, the dreams seem to become my reality you see, I have a hard time telling between to two – reality and dream reality, what the night gives me. The dreams essentially are a gift, unfortunately for me they are in the form of a curse; when one does not know the difference between dream and reality, one starts to lose their reality just a little bit. Reality is boring, reality is real, but real is boring and the only way I know my dreams are dreams is because they aren’t boring or they would be real. They give me what I want – so they’re a gift – but they also tell me what I want even if I don’t know it and seemingly set me up for a punchline that never comes – hence the curse. Life can be spend wallowing away in the endless chasm of reality, or the sleep can kick in and the world of your dreams and nightmares can come true, now that’s the real gift. Half of the day is spend awake and the other half sleeping, what’s really true now then, it’s really a tie. Maybe those moments when you are roaming the world of the boring, the living and the mortal is the break you need from the real world, not the reality but the dream. When sleep isn’t granted then the ultimate gift has been forfeited, it has been thrown away, you can’t stay in the break for too long, daylight isn’t forever. The break gets boring, it’s an interlude you see, a break from the big show and you’re the star only if you want to be. There’s no audition for your grand scheme, there just is, because when the sun leaves the sky then you are free, you are the king of your own little nightmare. The world is a cage, there you can roam as much as you want and not even know you’re trapped, and that’s the beauty of it. When bed is called, one feels like they are locked away for hours on end, when they couldn’t be any more wrong. When your eyes shut and you let the blackness of the night dwell inside of you, you see a wonderland and a nightmare all in one fantastical blend. That is true freedom, when the world is yours not for the living, not for the taking but for the creating, because it’s your world. The night is a great ocean that spans as far as your imagination will stretch and your bed is your ship, your bearing has been set for your wildest and most horrific dream and all you need to do is get a captain. The gates are open but only for the unknowing, those are the ones that are allowed to stay, those who know the meticulously planned deeds of the ghosts in the starlight cannot come in. That’s why I cannot sleep you see, I am forced out of that world and into my cage, the cage is where I live and the darkness is where I revel. The petty substitutes the world gives to us are only mere glimpses of what awaits, but my captain is dead and my ship is broken, it makes me think it works and changes my bearing without my knowledge. I lost my love and I know where she is, all I have to do is close my eyes, but I can’t. I know.