Heading due Rest

Waking before dawn,
can feel like the needle stick,
of novocain that stings and then fades,
even after I've stood up and dimmed the alarm,
I feel like I've lost the point of what I'm doing.

I question if I pushed too far home,
moving to ground level, if I ended in the basement,
as in pre-dawn morning I wonder where my heart is,
even as my stomach rolls over, begging for purpose,
I recall the source of my weariness, that dull crack.

All those earnest thoughts as I lay on my bed,
seemed to have been smothered in sleep by my sheets,
a rest that rearranged my head, sifting it around,
as a deck of cards, yet while the latter should be shuffled,
the former functions better in a deliberate order.