I suck at poetry

Whyissleep fleeting me it's awareness defeating me I often think my thoughts are against me when i ponder plots that sound convincing my brain telling my bodyto relax fleshasking it to recalculate the facts is this my security, my tomb or your bed deception in the wound as it spread why does my thought process harbour emotoins monstrous where does the need to bleed relate how does it concieve breath and take shape i'm clutching onto the reallityI prefer in sleep there's no triviality to cure I can't build pretty poetry into neat packages for the masses to hate and eat like savages i only embody my spirit into channels of expression haughty, lacking merit, come dismantle my confessions everything i might say has alreadybeen said it's pointless to continue i should drink instead