the vanity of insomnia

when I can’t sleep,
when it gets really bad,
I cover all
the clocks like a Jew
covering mirrors when
someone dies.

I cover my windows with
thick blackout curtains
so that I’m not blinded
by the inexorable
march of time
towards morning.

I mourn and miss
my lack of sleep
my sanity
my peace of mind, I
fear to be haunted by
my demons, the numbers
on the clock
glowing red like eyes
in the dark as I try to stop
counting the hours
until it’s safe to sleep again.

every night I fight
my better angels
for a chance to die
a little more inside.
every day I suspend
animation, press
snooze on my life
and dream my
restless, guilty dreams.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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