Sleep Is For The Weak

 

Sleep, they say, is for the weak

and I am weak

but I can’t sleep.

I’m running on frenetic dreams

Held together by caffeine seams

and other people’s expectations

in between skyscraper gleams

The morning bet as I down my joe:

tunes my brain in like a radio

or traps me in that hazy horror

tense fight-or-flight, paranoia

hearing colours, tasting time.

I’m in that crazy no man’s land

Performing daily miracles

Sickening for something

Cartwheeling over obstacles

Forgetting my own name

With ecstatic heart

Leaden eyes

Unfettered soul

and a cloud compacted in my head.

If I can just push though these gates

wade through the black floodwaters

there’s the land of dervish typing

and fevered ins/expiration

But this place here’s just the station

with just one train running daily

Going straight to Failureville. (Population: you).

Life’s a drug, it consumes you

Life lives you and it dooms you

And you can’t hop off

You can’t take a breather

You can’t save your place.

Oh God please

let me not exist, just for a while.

But wilful life’s covering its ears and going LA LA LA

Sprinting to the abyss

Relentlessly, carelessly, sadistically

it just keeps

going.

Until

one day

it

s

t

o

p

s.