sparks

I am raw and withering.  I don't sleep anymore.  Four of the last forty is not sufficient.  At seven this morning nothing could console me.  3 a.m. now is much the same.  I am flat; I don't even feel what's happening to me anymore.  I exist behind a pane of glass.  I can see everything sure enough, but I am not connected to it, not engaged, not alive alongside everyone else.  I don't even feel tired.