the sleeping pill sonata

janice could not keep herself from having nightmares---and when we say “nightmares” we are not talking about freddy with his claw hand, or storm-troopers making their way into her bedroom---no, janice was being raped repeatedly by monsters whom she could not place a face---her body was being tied down and chained down, stripped, sliced & diced---pieces of her were being sent off to different area codes, and the whole time she was screaming, seemingly without end---brutal force embodied in total physical reality with no energy spent on anything but attack-attack-attack---when she awoke from these nocturnal catastrophes she could not say a word & laid there staring at the ceiling catatonic for hours, days, weeks, and without any recourse, and without anyone to help her out while she attempted to recoup, she lost weight---there was nothing in the house to eat & she was too weak to leave---the summer’s humidity drenched in and cooked her like a crock pot---in a pool of sweat & dirt she threw herself off the bed with what energy she had left and crept along the floor trying with her last ditch effort to make it to her shower---for she felt that if she could just get clean on the outside maybe she would feel clean inside and from there, some kind of domino effect might occur where all of the sickness that rolled round her head would in fact, disappear---but these things happen to the best of us when we think we’re right but we’re clearly not---& with one hand stretched upwards towards the shower faucet, she was able to turn on the flow of the water---streaming down, it came, and began to shake her from the dream---she opened and closed her eyes ever-so-fast, watching the images of nightmare break up around her like pixels sprinkling away in the neon ocean---and when the droplets of water began to pelt down upon her, shocks of energy flowed through her now thinly emaciated body---a newfound need to get up on her feet & make her way to the kitchen was born---trudging, falling down on her knees & rising back up repeatedly, she struggled like a limping creature in the wild who just had been savagely shot in the leg by a human with nothing on their mind accept what it was that they were gonna stuff down their stupid gullet that evening (just running round the woods shooting at anything that moves---a metaphor for what us humans do to other humans when we grab a larger caliber weapon or a bunch of bombs, or a bunch of bombs strapped to a fast invisible jet flying over boundaries that we “promised” that we would not do so)---her pace quickens as her heartbeat falls into a rhythmic pattern which gets louder and louder with each additional move of her body---it starts to pound away like a non-melodic kettle drumming in an empty subway tunnel---gunshots ringing out & bullets ricocheting off pavement in the city’s early morn when no one is around to see or hear the thrashing of bullets pummeling their way through the AM mist---finally she makes it to the kitchen and with all the strength that she has left she throws open the refrigerator door with her eyes flickering & her mind buzzing a neutral but constant tone sorta’ like the one that comes in the early morning when a television station goes off the air and all you have are the lines of color---her hands scrap around the side door closest to her as she sits on the floor in front of the shelves and all she comes up with is a half-carton of expired milk, which without thinking, she attempts to guzzle---with her stomach so very hungry (attempting to eat itself as the case may be) and in doing so she feels the chunks of sour turned milk sliding down her throat and she smells the foul nature of the curdle envelope her sense of smell---turning her head and throwing the half-carton in the opposite direction, she throws up all over the kitchen floor---hunched over she continues for a bit with dry heaves until it is all out of her body---the acid in her mouth tastes so disgusting and as she moves her tongue around the surface of her teeth still tasting nothing but sour milk vomit she begins to cry---suddenly a deep cloud of doubt forms inside her mind---“what is she doing all of this for? who knows that she is even alive? who knows that she sits now on the floor in her own dwelling emaciated & forgotten spitting up pieces of sour milk puke---as it drips down her lips and onto whatever clothes she is wearing, janice looks around her kitchen with her flickering tired eyes scanning the outer surface of each cupboard in hopes that she will remember what is inside & in doing so, will discover true nourishment which will hopefully start that ball rolling to recovery---pushing her scrawny skin & bones up with her knees, hands gripping the counter and pulling, she is barely able to stand & hobbling over to the counter beneath a cabinet above, she opens the door to the cabinet quickly---thenwithoutanotherwordorthoughtfromtheinsideofhermindoroutsideshegrabsfromthecabinetabottleofsleepingpillscracksitopenthrowsdownthecontentsofthewholebottleandburyingherheadinthesinkandsimultaneouslyturningonthefaucetshewashesthemalldownwiththeflowingaqua.

then she slinks back down to the floor to die.

she was better off with only nightmares.