A Story on the Way to Bed (Well Earned Sleep?)

Casting a lead line into the dark,
fumbling around as if there were a light switch,
losing ground and height as I fall,
stricken by the sleep my body so earnestly seeks,
although I know not why I am troubled
by such an early advent of my drooping limbs,
even extending to my short stubby eye-door,
it's Getting Hard to Bear, all this headache,
a trade-off from phantom heartbreak,
mixing wo-gether to-rds and losing my tongue,
to sleep, a decay of reason, surrendering
to the uneven patterns of my constant muscle,
my subconscious-warranty of a breath,
sometimes-organic-battery cluster of shock->pump,
supplying the prescribed-confusing cerebellum fires,
which in term fuel my mass of sub-formed illusions,
goodnight, as the sane prescribe to the weary, adieu.