It Just So Happens

Call it a dream. It does not change anything.

To tell you the truth, I haven't been sleeping well.
I fall asleep, but I don't sleep. I'm only asleep.
The fire dies, the room grows colder, and when I awaken
I am only awake.
When I'm not sleeping, that's just how it is with me.
It can always be another way, but then it's only another way.
What keeps us all awake, if only because we think it does,
Is passing the long night thinking only
That we think it does, or thinking
Something else, and having it just be something else.
You lie in the twisted sheets, perceiving yourself as being there.
You listen for a time to the clock, and think of it as a clock.
You feel a mild sense of fear, if only because you do so,
Because your fear is somehow as such, and this in itself
Makes you fearful; it seems to be frightening you twice,
Once when it does, and then again when it does.
When you feel frightened, it happens that you do so.
You can always feel otherwise, but then that just happens too.
The fire that thinks you to sleep, on the warm bed of its ashes,
Staring in on its frightening self, with the same eyes
It goes out in, could always be thought of as causing
The dark thing that it comes to, but when that's
What things come to, it just so happens that they do.
When I can't get to sleep, the truth is I'm not sleeping.
It could always be a dream, but that would only be the truth.
If I'm awake, and I am awake, then that's what the case is;
I'm just afraid, as I lie here, that it only happens to be true.

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