Caught Outside the Coffin

Why am I so tired?
Are my limbs so weakly wired?
Can I go a day with thoughts desired?
Do you think sleep is truly required?

I find it interesting
to be able to feel
the similarities between
drunkenness
and sleep deprivation.

All I've known is an unholy high,
A smile after my conspiratory lie,
Drawing your pseudo omnipotent eye,
Then I ponder, "How is it that I cry?"

Looking out for yourself
and being superman
is an oxy-moron.
Is it at all possible?
I have found it to be
satisfying
which leads me to wonder
just where in my soul
the tears trickle from.

I weather away in my glacial crypt,
Denying that more than skin was ripped;
So I ask how many tears will now be dripped
Since my eyes have seen her room so stripped.

I brood over simply
deserting my sanctuary.
There is a need
to wallow over things
I let myself think of
as undistinguished.
There was not one piece
of furniture
in the room of my dearly deceased..

I visit her resting place and picture mine beside it, but I can only wish of knowing how comfortable it is inside her newly decorated room.