I know what it is not to sleep, 
the spectre of Death at the foot of the bed
blinking
breathing the opposite of air

I know what it is to count, 
shadows, palpitations, regrets
fear
a lock being picked with long fingernails

Why have you come?
I whisper under covers
What do you want with me?
my ears pop in the vacuum

                    To prove to you the sun will rise.
                    To prove to you that I am nothing.