we sleep because

we sleep because
dying is too hard
we are not grown up enough

each night we practice
giving in, or giving up,
when we let the ritual of sleep
swallow us

trusting that we will be born again
when morning comes
reincarnated into the same flesh

the same sins
our days spin into a continuous
gradient of grays

we stop counting
and pretend to forget
the lovers
the cities
and the jobs that fed us,
the friends
the faith
the songs
the fears
and languages that defined us
each a baptism of fire

we have lived
many, many lives
and until we die
whether we are counting or not
in the morning
we will be born again

and we will once more
be young enough
to waste it all over
one more time