too many nights

And this lack of darkness behind my eyes strikes again.
Restless and mentally tired.
Eyes drifting shut, but there is no comfort.
Skin grows hot with my frustration
as the minutes tick by
and the window of opportunity slides shut.
My bed becomes rock
and my sheets of thick lava.
Plans for the coming day shot;
stress wears on my body.
Massless pins and needles prod and hinder;
Twitching, aching.
Unable to function properly,
I lay restless,
with not other things capable of being done.
The alarm clock sounds in a room without need,
and the sun rises,
but it has been behind these eyes all along.
Part of the routine
of a body growing weaker
and a soul growing less content.