Effed by Insomnia
poem
At the reservation dump, a discarded mattress, damp with rain and stained with human stuff, but I lie on it anyway, hoping that its fabric and springs contain all the good things that sleep brings to those who are nightly blessed by rest. But no such luck. I’ve been fucked by insomnia since childhood. There ain’t no magic spells that can rescue the Indian boy who doesn’t know how to sleep well.
I liked how it showed in desperation we try anything. I could visualize your exhaustion and temptation to try something totally out of the ordinary to get some relief.
Buckle up, the older you get the worse it gets.