Photo by Daria Shevtsova
Rest is finicky beneath my skin, begging to be entertained before it can be set at ease / settled into form that true sleep takes / removing such lines as pity and shame from its outlays. Could sleep be so beautiful that it dispels the rough edges forged from steel used to make such cage strong enough to resist the stones of living. Iron enough to stay the sands of guilt that I might not lose my footing from the gravel of my own hesitations / sink below these chiseled fragments born of rougher element into ease alone / confront the gaze of comfort / reconcile without the taint of offering / a fair bargain for solitude's requirement / the cage you carry and enter when you close your eyes by choice instead of rest's exertions exploring.