waking words

Sometimes in the twilight before I fall asleep or the dim mornings when I float between dreaming and waking, words threaten to overwhelm any potential sleep. Sentences run behind my eyelids, begging to be spilled on to a page or be typed out and read. I used to give in, but lately, I let it torture me, editing with my eyes closed, turning over variations of sentences and words in my brain. Then it's lost. In the waking world, the dream-like magic has disappeared, and they're just words again, not beautifully cadenced sentences singing like music to me and painting beautiful visions behind my closed eyes.