Reading books, counting stars, naming
constellations, or counting sheep,
nothing seems to hold onto sleep
long enough for it to be reality,
Countless sleepless midnights of
thoughts rushing from one
side to another, each as important as
the last,
Thoughts of love gone wrong,
gone right and
back again turning at disaster,
U-turning just before the river,
stopping at normalcy,
What is normalcy
is it when
A false start cheapens the taste
of wine from one bar to another, hoping
it will linger after a tasteless dinner,
Numbing long enough to find
rest without medication, to
let twitching fingers lay, silent
not selecting each second to switch thoughts,
Another restless night of wondering
what went wrong with
time, letting each minute drive by with
machine guns and machetes,
reeking havoc on neighbors with bright lights
and static screams,
Wondering who slept with who, how Dr.
Obnoxious made lead and continued to be the love interest
when pen clicks distract from
a heartfelt confession,
Changing scripts mid-scene,
unneeded changes disrupt patterns,
Praying they’ll realize that shouting
at each other is as hopeless as
the degrading drywall between
headrests,
Why won’t it end the monotony
of thoughts,
driving on curved roads,
speeding up, slowing
down, finding back roads,
changing lanes, cursing to the felted ceiling,
wishing
for a dead end to crash into, to
release stress and neck knots,
to find solace in darkness whose hugs
are like an old friend welcoming you home,
Testing each sense to the point of insanity, Forgetting that
road signs lead to another black
eye from meandering nightstands,
the breaking of solid matter, turning
sentences into incoherent
mumbles and slurs that
make a lush blush five shades of pink,
And another broken toe,
on door-jams that swing like toy monkeys,
in the hands of rambunctious children,
at the park,
ramming into blue plastic slides,
tied in knots around cold metal poles,
pain tolerance can only handle so much,
When did that get there,
Beep
Beep
It has come to this, now
after breaking and entering
into miscalculated sanity;
sleep is finally within reach, on
blank walls and broken wired connections,
Letting ear piercing sounds echo in,
the antechamber,
each day preserved is lost,
fading colors are welcomed, when drips
of clarity are
the songs of dream makers
in white coats and stethoscopes
About the Creator
Regan Meade
I am an aspiring writer who wants to be the me I want to be through said writing.
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