It is extremely uncomfortable.
You lie in wait, tossing and turning.
There is a destination,
But the directions are faulty.
Searching and searching, on and on.
The pillow is a pair of stone hands.
Your head reclines yet never finds rest.
Waiting takes so long,
But morning and all its obligations
Races toward you at Olympic speed.
Reading a book never helps,
While weariness hinders any learning.
You try to kill time with knives and thoughts,
While rest hides its face.
Yet with so many people similarly struggling,
At least you are never alone.
Being alone is far worse than being awake.