I am fighting.

My enemy is relentless,
relentless as heavy rain slamming into the ground.
Still, I must win this war. I cannot,
can never give in.

But battling is difficult,
so very difficult.

The blackness lurking outside flows in,
wrapping around me,
suffocating me.
It is another force, though weaker,
that challenges me.
It is allied with my opponent.

My opponent,
who is standing on my eyelids, pressuring me to close them.
My opponent,
who is pouring numbness into my mind.
My opponent,
who tries to force me into his world.

Every time I fight back,
pull my eyes open,
clear my mind,
and resist with all my might,
my opponent responds with crushing power.

He makes it plain that he will win,
that he does every time.
But that does not mean I won’t try.

He likes to think he is my savior,
that every night,
after he swoops in and destroys,
he is actually liberating me.
But I would much rather remain in captivity.

We battle for hours.
Hours of tiring war.
Hours of attempting to anchor myself in my realm, away from his.

But finally,
as smudges of gold
smear the edge where sky meets land,
I am defeated.

I have fought bravely,
but it is not enough.
It is never enough.

Sleep is always triumphant.