If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

I need this night 

to last forever. 

I need it to go on 

because once I fall asleep, 

it will be tomorrow. 

It will be the day 

of Brian’s funeral. 

And I can’t do that. 

I can’t see that. 

I can’t feel that. 

My eyes are burning. 

They want to seal shut. 

They want a break from crying. 

My body is sore from tensing, 

and it wants release. 

It wants the softness of sleep, 

but I cannot give it that. 

I cannot 

let that happen. 

I cannot 

go from today to tomorrow. 

If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

If I do not sleep, 

it will not come. 

I repeat these nine words 

like a mantra. 

I try to hold onto them 

like worry beads, 

like a rosary, 

but instead of keeping me focused 

they are lulling 

me to sleep. 

If I do not 

sleep it will 

not come if I 

do not sleep 

it will not 

come if I do 

not sleep it 

will not come if 

I do not 

sleep it 

will 

not 

come.