There are nights when even the pills fail,
their promise of peace crumbles like ash.
My mind is a restless storm,
thoughts racing, twisting,
turning upon themselves.
Each night I close my eyes,
but sleep is a cruel spectre,
hovering just beyond reach.
Then my sleeplessness turns on me.
My heart beats hard and fast,
like a bird, trapped against the bars of my ribs.
Pain coils tight in my chest.
The room spins, its edges blur.
I cannot think.
I cannot feel.
I cannot speak.
Day and night are now the same
Now that sleep plays its’ game
An evil game of sleep rhoulette
“How much sleep will she get?”
Tick. Tick. Tick. The hours pass
“How much longer will this last?”
Pills. Stretches. Lights off. Lights on.
Tossing, turning, “where has sleep gone?”
Count sheep. Read. Drink milk, they say
Still my nights become long days
Dreams are now delusions
Sleep is just an illusion
Someday I will be fixed
That is, if sleep still exists
alone in the bush
where night is calling
within the open sky
as dark as the one I love
I wander in the sand
while cutting twigs in a path
the bells have echoed
somewhere in the night
this midnight soup
has broken up my dreams
a strand in circles
a ring that never ends
