The Observer: Why Do You Sleep?

[Note From the Creastor: This is a poem from The Observer's perspective, aknowleging Rayven's sleeping state. This is my first try at it. I hope I kept him in character. ~RayvenTheInsane]

Why Do You Sleep?
As I walk up the stairs to your room, I can feel a blissful peace.

For it seems you've escaped my grasp once more, and my torment you've stopped and ceased.

I open the door without a sound, quiet enough for your unaware.

But instead of your body at your desk, I find it on your bed, laying there.

I sigh in frustration, this can't be right, and I feel my glasses gleam.

It seems you've escaped from reality for a while, and gone away to dream.

I sit on the edge of your bed, softly, and you don't make a peep.

I ponder now as I observe you intently: Why do humans sleep?

Your body, just an hour before, was hyper, even wired.

Now you just lay on your bed, as if you're extremely tired.

I could invade your dreams if I wanted, and hurt your subconsious mind.

However, I'll just watch you now, and see what I can find.

You're limp, relaxed, which surprises me; You're always so very tense.

I now think you're just playing me; Are you really that dense?

Is this a side I haven't seen aside from your tomboyish state?

You're filled with calm and quiet, too; I can't sense any hate.

I run my fingers through your hair, it's a soft and flowing black.

I brush them out of your closed eyes for a moment, and you shiver back.

Your hoodie's off, under it is but a rather thick-strapped tank top.

I see where your metal component meets the flesh, at the shoulder where your arm was lopped.

I stroke, massage the meeting point gently, and my hand goes to the other,

You stir and give a quiet sigh, and I give a tiny shudder.

Oh, have I distubed your sleep, interrupted it in a way?

I have to murmur, "Too bad,",  my dear, for that's all I can say.

You should be moving away from me, screaming not to touch.

But you just curl up a little, and you don't make noise so much.

In wake, you hate my attitude, and my touches even more.

But in sleep, you warm up to me, and let my touch explore.

Oh, you could stir, you could wake up, but you could not be more wrong.

For a trance I could put you in to keep you asleep long.

I watch you stir, I watch you sleep, I listen to your sighs.

I quietly lay next to you and for once close my own eyes.

Perhaps you've forgotten yourself now that you have lain to rest,

And I think that this is the side of you that I may like the best.