Confessions of an Insomniac

There is a pounding in my heart that comes with night. I can feel a clear vibration rattling the frame of my bed so that the whole house feels it. Into the silent corners of my room the thoughts scramble away from my head like convicts from a prison. The moonlight picks up on their black and white stripes. They tear about the room and up and down the walls, scrawling their depths and making their mark on even me.

In the morning I wake up damaged, completely wrecked and panting. Sour from sweat and aching from tossing, I gamble with getting up. I swear I have woken up in someone else’s skin. My eyelids feel heavy and my soul swells, stretching the skin tight against it. There is nothing I can do about my nights. They come and I try to sleep. But this is who I am and if this is not me then I must be somewhere else. My room comes apart around me during the day; it has no power without the night to disguise it.

Last night was the first night I dreamt of you in a long time. Maybe that’s why the rattles were so clear and my thoughts so muddy. I gamble with getting up, but I risk going to sleep again.

Every night I risk because I want and I can’t help it.