I wish to sleep.

Wishing is a talent
I have long developed, but
Sleep is not, and my eyes stay open, 
Hatefully glaring at the grey ceiling.

Tension seeps into my bones instead of
Out, and keeps me in this world, rather than one of dreams.

Selfishly, I hate those who
Leave their consciousness behind,
Elegantly posed as models of rest.
Even I have my breaking point, and I
Pray to some god I don't believe in for just one hour of rest.