The Writers' Circle

You'd never guess
that she's the one who can't sleep at night.
Or maybe you could.
The signs are all there.

She's so tired,
she's beyond sleep.
She's hoping that the day she does fall asleep,
she won't wake up,
because then everything 
would go away,
and it would just be her, 
alone.

But that will never happen.

So her bed remains made,
and her pillows fluffed,
all the pretty little things
placed where they're meant to be.
She lies face down on the rug
next to her bed,
spread out like a star,
because it doesn't matter
doesn't matter anymore.