Insomnia

“Soon, this will be just an awful memory.

Will I ever be able to sleep again?”

 

– Curse of the Virgin Canvas, Alesana

 

 

Last night, you didn’t sleep.

Your messages were answered

by mechanical silence.

On the day of the first

when people bring back

the memories of the dead.

 

Last night, sleep was a poison.

In which I slept and fed upon

and it crawled through your anger

and ate our soul like a knife

splitting everything in two

and blurring our sight.

 

I’d thought of taking pills

but remedies aren’t solution

to this scene of motion-sickness

brought upon the rides we had shared

up and down to sides and all the way around

in a fun fair of roller coasters every night and day

where the air muffled our screams and cries

six-feet deep below the ground with

one of our feet beneath the hole

as if we are trying to crawl

in our respective caskets

and ready ourselves

as our hearts break

for one more time

again and leave

ourselves

at piece.

 

Last night became a summary

of emotions, of laughter and cries,

longing and goodbyes. Indifference, to flight

as I was high above the sky and you

pulled me close after listening to the music

woven by metaphors of day and night

and of suns and moons.

 

Last night was a living dream,

a disaster and a night mare

that could put us both in an

endless startled gaze.

Stunned and motionless.

Eyes unwavering

as we looked into the distance

That kept us apart

and brought forth

the sleepless nights you’ve had

and come into an argument

I wish I never lacked.

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