When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

Insomnia


Sometimes I lay in my bed wide awake and restless.
Very tired but unable to sleep.
Did I say sometimes? This is in fact most times if not all the time.
I roll around in my bed and have thoughts of tearing my soul from my body and each living independently- almost devoid of each other.
Sometimes my eyes hurt too much from being unable to sleep but once I close them they hurt even more.
It's a torturous cycle of deep thought and slight regret.
Worlds of fantasy, horror and worry unwind before me rapidly .


No matter what I do or try not to do I will not sleep.
Sometimes it feels like the torturous cycle will not end until I hear the birds chirping and the light seeping enviously through my curtains .
I squirm but I know I have to wake up soon.
"Only the poor sleep," I hear my mom's voice echo in a bizarre make believe torture chamber.
I never rest however early I go to bed.
I'm an enslaved slumberer stuck in a strange purgatory of dismay.
I pray to sleep and not to sleep.


Many a pill popped up my mouth and even liquid so vain forced down my pipe but alas no eye so wary of life closes even in dire pain.
Suddenly my world spins from real to queer.
I wish I could save John Snow.
Words of fiction brought to real life.
Character tailored by word of mouth and designed by strong visuals yet my heart draws closely a near.
I daresay I should have been his shield.
I could even go so far to say he was my idol and my life ended right when he died.
I wish I could have saved him.

I daresay, I wish I was some kind of shield and there whence he shouldn't have died .
Was I so helpless I couldn't save my hero.
Was my life purpose so drowned I couldn't use my ultimate power to save the world heartache.
My mind spins and spins until I cannot take it anymore...
The dogs bark and the winds whisper mockingly to my ears.
Shadows of unseen bad spirits on powerful screens blind me.

My hung towel by my wardrobe is in fact an old hunchback woman, my drawer a crippled baby and my toilet a  large headed octopus monster.
I instantly switch on my lights as my torturers grow closer and closer.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice my brain is working faster than a cheetah.
I switch my lights back off and mercy eventually kicks in at 7am in the morning.
My time of reckoning is nigh and now the gods of morn mock me in predeath disguised as snatched sleep.
I wonder when my torment shall end.

Yet every night I lay in my bed and hope I sleep.
I hope the gods of slumber shall take me and draw me into their ambience of solitude and short lived death.
Until then, I lay in between wake and sleep. 
A place I wish will one day vanish