If trial and error exists in the same world as I do

And practice truly makes me perfect

Then why can’t I fall asleep?

 

Literally thousands of times I have laid here

Eyes closed, praying for the temporary oblivion

To fast-forward my consciousness to morning light

 

Picture books and/or wonderful slideshows

Of shame and guilt parade through my brain

Sleep doesn’t come naturally anymore

 

Nor can it be induced by any means

Through the mouth or nose because

All I can inhale is venom

 

And it tastes like the bottom of tennis shoes

Three words dancing on the tip of my tongue

It’s all I can do to bite my nails a little harder

 

I’m sick of waiting until 3 A.M.

To force everything to be fine, it’s fine

Chalkboards and suitcases litter the floor

 

Scattered on the carpet of my bedroom

Baggage lights my face, chirping sad melodies

Broken birds flying in circles around my head

 

They tell me what you say

Allocating precious words and touching the back of my arm softly

Letting me know that I’m not good enough

 

Or at least, I think that I’m not good enough

For the nebula of wood chips that is yesterday

The splinters still won’t come out of my eyelids

 

So, refusing to blink or to cry,

I exist in a perfect purgatory

Knowing that at any moment the noise will stop

 

The calm rush of sound bombarding my eardrums

Like rockets flying into the eye of the moon

They’re soothing and placate my jealous fever

 

Because there is a dark, quiet violence

That hides under the waters of silence

A predator that always watches for one deep breath

 

One slip up

One mistake

Her name is

 

Elegant and intelligent and fickle

And many other things all at once

I collect scales and bruises

 

I’m not an instigator of conflict

But I know how potions work

Crocodile tears and thick skin

 

Boom, you have an instant gator

That snaps and twists on the carpet

Gnashing for a bite of my psyche

 

So when you ask why I’m not going to bed

Think of the reptiles and traps and the absolute

Clusterfuck of self-inflicted pain

 

Even though they’re made of feathers and sunbeams

My pillows still feel like sand

Dry, barren, and cold like a desert

 

I’ve been deserted, but

What else is new?

I’ll find sleep sometime soon

 

Either hiding under a blanket

Quivering on the couch

Or in the driver’s seat of my car

 

I wish I knew how to end this poem

But I don’t, and I can’t even say

Goodnight