Miscarriage of insomnia

Sleep doesn't come to me.
Afraid I will break her heart,
just like I do everything nice that visits my life.
I lay in my bed I turn and toss,
cursing the night I adopted darkness and watched light crawl away.
In bed tossing and turning
wishing someone will come hold and assure me that all will be fine.
I turn and toss
as sun rises hoping that the noise in my ear will turn into a lullaby song to lure me to sleep.
I lay there.
Waiting.
Thinking.
Hoping that all will be alright
Wishing it was a dream and I will end it and continue with my sleep.
I wait.
I hope.
I wish.
Reality of things is,
I'm still awake,
for I have not known what sleep feels like.
Yet I wait.
I hope.
I wish.
That this pregnancy of insomnia I carry
will be a miscarriage,
and my life will get better.