In a lab so cold, in a time so grim,
Where the lights burned low and the walls looked dim,
A doctor with eyes like frozen glass,
Spoke of a test no man should pass.
“Sleep is a prison,” he softly swore,
“But what if we unlock the door?”
With whispers sharp as a surgeon’s blade,
He gathered the ones who weren’t afraid.
Five souls agreed, with eager minds,
To leave their weary rest behind.
For thirty nights, awake they’d stay,
As science pulled their dreams away.
At first, they laughed, their minds burned bright,
Seeing colors that danced in the dead of night.
But soon, the voices—soft, then shrill—
Began to echo, cold and still.
Their eyes turned hollow, their hands grew thin,
Their skin stretched tight against their chin.
Yet they did not beg, they did not weep,
They only asked, “Why must we sleep?”
On the twelfth dark night, one ceased to speak,
His face so pale, his breath too weak.
Yet still he moved, though dead he lay,
His mouth still whispering, “Stay awake.”
By the twentieth eve, the locks grew weak,
The walls pulsed red, the floorboards creaked.
The watchers fled, but the doctor stayed,
For he had learned what price was paid.
At dawn’s first light, the last one stood,
Not flesh, not bone, but something should.
His grin was wide, his stare unblinking,
“We never slept… but now you’re sinking.”
The doctor screamed as shadows swirled,
A gateway torn from dream to world.
For those who wake where sleep should be,
Are never meant for what they see.
So heed this tale, and close your eyes,
For sleepless ones are never wise.
If whispers call when the night is deep,
Resist their voice. Go back to sleep.