Need to hit a mattress

Every wired morsel of my head is tired – it sucks to complain but again life just drains right out of me. It’s a catastrophe, a jingle stuck in your head on constant refrain. The next eight hours will destroy me, solemn sleep is so close and verbose I wish it wouldn’t ignore me. It shouts on the edge of awareness like a hunger-racked child starved to permanent impairment. Its mouth is in my head and its butt is in my dread and its corpse lies through my soul and it’ll grow if I stay awake till I show up dead.