Insomnia

poem

Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

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Insomnia


Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn
like a man drowning beneath a waterfall.
Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse

the clock. It's only 3 a.m. Your eyes burn.
Asleep, other people fly. Awake, you crawl.
Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn

like a wind turbine, electric, killing birds
instead of counting sheep. Your soul caterwauls.
Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse

before you even look at the clock. You've learned
how the night works. 3 a.m. is your default.
Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn

like a cauldron filled with poison frog and fern.
If sleep is flesh then you're a starved cannibal.
Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse

everyone who slumbers—the ones who fall first
and wake last. Gift them only your spite and gall.
Some nights, you can't sleep. You churn and churn like Hell.
Some nights, you wake at 3 a.m. and curse yourself.