Visual Contact

Despite my frequent tellings

That it's time to fall asleep,

My brain refuses to

Acknowledge my will.

For it.



For when my lids close,

I see what it wants me

To see.

Most often, it's things I can't

Make much sense of:

Random coloured swirls

And arcs.

Like an aurora in

The darkness.

But stare for just

A second too long

And I see her face.

Her eyes.

And they gaze back at me.

Devoid of hope.



My brain knows

This something I

Do not want to see.

Regardless, it conjures

Her eyes

From the depths of my mind.

So when I meet her

Steely gaze tomorrow

And every other day after

I will be able to resist the urge

To cry.

Maybe that's why my brain

Does not allow me to sleep.

So I can stay awake

And pay my pillow

My nightly tax of tears.