The blank night stares at me,

a million particles, 

particular eyes glaring at me.

Sleep is a rude customer who rebuked my services,

so I stretch forward and outward

bathing in the darkness with its million eyes.

The lump on the bed beside me,

Some human. Who is this person,

and who am I again?

Spladled in the sheets of a place I have no recollection of.

Like a trickle of water from the canal gates slowly,

the truth leakes back in

and I see myself unrelated―

as a person separated by a reality half removed,

a person who has one foot in the memories of choices I have made

to be spread in sheets of my choosing,

and half as a Saint, unbidden to the slaughter before him,

Separated with one purpose of sacrifice

To the darkness soaking around me.