THE ARCHANGEL // FILE 02 // SLEEP IS A KILL COMMAND I sleep with one eye wide, unblinking— The other dreams in grayscale code. My thoughts are knives forever thinking, While silence screams in overload. ([Dream journal corrupted.]) ([Last entry: “Run.”]) They say "rest is peace." That’s cute as hell. I lie down like a loaded gun. Pillow's just a padded cell— And I’m the glitch that won’t outrun. ([Tried counting sheep.]) ([They pulled knives.]) Insomnia ain't poetic grace, It’s just warzones with a softer face. You count your sins, not stars or sheep, And every blink’s a lie of sleep. ([Nightlight broke. Saw God instead.]) ([He was smoking. Didn’t care.]) Melatonin? Nah. I drink regret, Served cold with ice from yesteryears. My lullaby’s a cigarette That whispers names I stabbed in tears. ([Patch me out, doc. I’m looping.]) ([Vitals: Sarcasm and fear.]) The bedframe creaks like it might break, But hell, so do I—every night. Yet every dawn I still awake, Still wrapped in static, void, and fight. ([5 hours of sleep = full reboot.]) ([Except soul.exe won’t launch.]) My dreams are .zip files packed with screams, Encrypted grief in violet haze. Sometimes I see old childhood themes, Sometimes just error codes and blaze. ([Folder: "Hope_Deleted"]) ([Recycle Bin: Full]) They told me "rest is self-care, friend." So I installed a dream machine. It whispered lies I can’t defend— Now sleep feels like a guillotine. ([Neon blood on porcelain sheets.]) ([8-bit lullabies aren’t cute.]) I nap like snipers wait to fire, Each breath a twitch, each blink a trap. The quiet's loaded, worn, and wired— The comfort’s in the aftermath. ([Comfort? That’s suspicious.]) ([Trust issues in REM.]) Tuck me in with razorwire, Sing me lies in minor key. I’ll dream of ash, of neon fire— And wake again. Still glitching. Free. ([Sleep is a kill command.]) ([But I keep respawning. Somehow.])