Her lullaby soothes me tranquilly into a cocoon of dark weightlessness

when, with venomous spite, she yanks me from my slumber;

her Banshee screech propelling my heart

into a thunderous chorus of irregularity.

Conducting her nightly Hell, my demonic Master

smiles with satisfied sadism

at my wretched tossing and turning.

Stealer of hope and beauty,

she imprints herself in the lines on my face and bags beneath my eyes

draining the vitality from my body while

planting seeds of desperation in the soil of my soul.

Now a device of torture, my bed insistently

maintains its promises of comfort and repose.

Denied of sustenance I starve and

beg on my knees at her thrown

for a scrap of the abundance she hoards.

 –

Bored with my misery

she smugly grants me mercy…

for one hour.

 –

Sleep is a selfish, fickle, two-faced bitch.