Tag Archives: sleep

insomnia + depression.

hardly surprising;
the cliche couple
are such a complementary
match:
the weary inabilty
to sleep, and
the debilitating inability
to care.

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bed.

kitten kisses
and fluffy
warmth.

each week
is a countdown:
one of seven
two of seven
three of seven
four of seven
five of seven
…weekend.

bed.
warmth.
silence
but for the
mewing
of my
cosy friend
who wants
for nothing
but kitten kisses
and fluffy warmth.


numb.

i do not
miss
the endless
panic and fear.

i do not
miss
the endless
dread and tremors.

i do not
miss
the endless
tears and adrenaline overdose.

alas, the
replacement
is a dull numbness
and endless insomnia.

i do not
sleep
on holidays;
i do not
sleep
at all.

i do not
miss
the endless
gasps for breath.

but i do
miss
sleep.


armless.

you always
smell
like fresh
laundry.

and now
you follow
me everywhere:
caress me
as i sleep;
cradle me
from the chill.

you still
smell
like fresh
laundry.

only your arms
are out of reach.


request.

there is the realisation,
that this is your life:
and you’ve spent more than half of it
wishing it was over.

take me now,
the tearful plea each night;

take me now,
the gutless desperation;

take me now,
so i can forget;

take me now,
before the game unravels;

take me now,
let this be the last time.


sleepology.

eight hours
of blood
and salt,
pain and
humiliation.

eight hours
searching for
respite and comfort,
love and
approval.

eight hours
of desperation
and terror,
restless drama and
tiresome torture.


cup.

another one
for the cup:
cup of sugar,
cup of tea,
cup of soup.

another one
for the cup:
cup of dust,
cup of glass,
cup of blades.

another one
for the cup:
cup of blood,
cup of salt,
cup of hair.

another one
for the cup:
cup of nails,
cup of grass,
cup of pain.


[okay]?

what happened?
it’s okay.

where did you go?
it’s okay.

how’s your heart?
it’s okay.

is it dark?
it’s okay.

are you alone?
it’s okay.

when will it stop?
it’s okay.

why not?
it’s okay.

it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.


stride.

eat my
hand;
draw breath
and see
the raw mist.

call the
question
unearthed
and captured
in real time.

my brain
permanently
intoxicated,
high anxiety
and the dull grey.

watch her walk
see the stride,
a purpose
unknown
but free.

loose flesh
and fish oil
stains;
waiting in
silent terror.

longing sobs;
inevitable loss.
leave quietly
or rather,
don’t let me fall.


did you.

did you die;
and i’m still
in denial?

did you die;
and all i’m seeing
is your ghost?

did you die;
or did i just
dream you?