sleepless

Sleepless toss n’ turning kind of night where the window’s open, but it’s too humid. Where the sheets are thrown off, but you’re paralyzed on account of yourself, worried that if you move just one whole inch, you’ll have to start this process all over again, this process of falling asleep. You are failing. There are noisy neighbors outside, though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The voices are raised and aggravated, but unintelligible as trash can lids sound like they slam shut in a repetitious fashion. A cat loudly meows, also disturbed. There is no guarantee of finding sleep after routinely rinsing the gastrointestinal cavity with whiskey, lips in between parched and sated, eyelids drooping but cannot find rest. It’s a sleepless night, it is hot, it is annoying, it is 3 AM. Flipping the pillow to access its cooler side is only a temporary refuge. The ceiling fan clicks in meditative trance. Darkness is moonlit (and streetlamp-lit) so that in this bedroom the shadows of things are very clear and only mildly ambiguous. The mattress is a raft now.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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