Sleep, dear.

In my dreams I would run my fingers through the loose strands of your shirt, grasping and letting go of the cotton between my clutch as I stared tastefully into your eyes; my iris' being full of love and knowing. Of course, your eyes would be closed and I would be staring at nothing but a body that looked dead- but I was okay with that. I could watch as your lips part, letting way for air in a sensually timid way- as if trying to explain your inner thoughts to which you could not fathom to say. I wondered if you talked in your sleep, in a dishevelled blindness manner as you unwittingly devoted your true secrets to me; as I, the angel of dreams, watched upon you- unblinking- scared I may miss the moment your eyes flutter open, your eyelashes whipping your skin as you come to a land you just missed with your mind; your body in complete uncertainty of what was just happening mere moments before you awoke.

I would watch on, biting my fingernails as I waited anxiously for realisation; your breath playing peacefully upon my cheeks as I smother myself in the feeling of your soul resting. I'd lust for your bodies' peaceful hums, the melodic sound of your heart beating as I wished upon the stars on your skin for a taste. My palm pressed against your chest, feeling as it moved up and down- stammering on every beat as you tried to guide your body into living another second.

Sleep is just another form of death, loose and uncertain as your body is unaware of if your brain dared to give up or merely push another second further. I think that's why It was so tempting to watch you, trying to figure out when your morality would come into action as your body fought against consciousness and unconsciousness. I'd watch upon your being, wondering if I would finally figure out if you were a mortal or not- as if some sick show that gave me pleasure.

And, on the off chance you did pass, I would once again find myself twisting my fingers through your cotton shirt- only now I would be tainting the white fabric with the immorality that was my blood. Beckoning you to wake up, and understand what I had done.