I should sleep. Once more. Twice more. Till my forlorn conscience, beseeches me crooked thrice more and again.  Me? There is no “me” nor “I”, nor “we”. Maybe “they” stays sane through mine fading souls parting ways, or “they” joins a forth night more and dreams being separate souls. Triumphing as soldiers of their own mortal legacy. Illusions. Preposterous illusions! Yet no less than reality’s calamity in dusk’s shroud.

I shall sleep. Once more. Twice more. Till my conscience forlorn, beseeches me crooked thrice more and again. Slowly at first, engaging the motion, till thin veils fall upon thy sorrows for another night. Closing eyes to the witching hours passing by. Slumber in celebration of thy upcoming Lady of the Night, Obscur Moon. Starring in her own district, selling gracious mistress’ revealing moonlight along with wasteful agonies to such watchers. Such mistress as sole aster of thy wretched home, guiding after light, so I siege at thy fragile peace. Peace, ah yes peace! Let me have peace! Must you torture me so with fleeting moments of soft fleece peace in restless sleep?

I will sleep. Once more. Twice more. Till my conscience forlorn, beseeches me crooked thrice more and again. Again, once more! My deity for tis loyal realm of sanity has forsaken my path, thus my nightfall stage bids me to undress, undress until there is nothing left. But the void. Yes the void, the colorless empty void which is I. So small and vast. Screeching voices asleep with I, Night hath taketh me like a thief, my savior, my black knight, let us run away, just for this night once more from the never ending screeches, the never ending laughs and cries dwelling in the pits of tis mind. No, no let me go! Let me be alone, with only me thinking and speaking of crying and dying once more!

Sleeping, not once nor twice. Till my forlorn conscience is gone. Leaving me crooked. Allowing me my final courtesy, my first gift: a slumber without wake, in peaceful solitude alongside time, one last time.