Rx

The house was quiet and the world was calm. 

The reader became the book; and summer night 

Was like the conscious being of the book

The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book, 

Except that the reader leaned above the page, 

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be 

The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom 

The summer night is like a perfection of thought. 

The house was quiet because it had to be. 

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind: 

The access of perfection to the page. 

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world, 

In which there is no other meaning, itself 

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself 

Is the reader leaning late and reading there. 

"Sleep Deprivation-related Hypnagogic Hallucinations" 

The physician spoke the words as if they were something to fear, as if within them existed a dark and foreign world one should know nothing of. A world where every color leads into one another, creating one swirling plethora of nothingness, a non-existent representation of the time passing.  

Point A leads to point B and green means go. 

It is difficult to understand the purpose of paying money, for a potential diagnoses. Especially since one is then expected to pay for a synthetic sleep aid that costs even more. No one should have to pay for one of the most natural and essential of bodily functions

Early to bed, early to rise. For whom doth the term still apply, if one were to both sleep and wake after one, but before five a.m? 

Hypnagogic Hallucinations.

As if two words, one uncommon the other less-so, could intimidate one who feels so little. Is it not plausible for one whom faintly dreams while still awake, to be experiencing something so simple, as a daydream? 

Exactly when does a thought become a dream, if both remain within the confines of the mind? 

As if one could be expected to sleep at all, with so much to ponder.