Tired

To live inside my dreams,
some days,
it seems,
more than just fleetingly appealing.

And I can't find the words
to make it sound less trite.

One night, spent in a loop of violence,
which began with jealousy,
and ended with
Armageddon,
and God,
and no redemption,
haunted my day with longing
for control,
a passion-
for one more chance to try to change my fate.

And other nights with strangers,
elusive needs,
and unlikely affection.
Virtual love, but not a fairytale.
Just a world, unpredictable,
full of anticipation,
an unfamiliar will for me to please,
impress,
to care about the way I dress.

These thoughts, awake,
create an ache,
that passes through my chest
and head.
The things in me not dead.

To sleep and sleep, now I can see,
might not always be despair,
but curiosity.