Tag Archives: sleep

Well Played

I am through,
And it’s all on you.
I know that I will lose,
And when I do,
I know that I will choose
to welcome death,
I cannot catch my breath,
My eyes are sunken,
My mind is drunken,
My face is ripped off and I’m hunkered,
The body blows are raining
and I’m failing,
Because I cannot duck and weave,
How can I when I cannot even breathe?
There’s no reprieve.
I am drowning
in the sky,
I cannot hide,
The night
washes over like a tide,
Fills my lungs with poisoned dye
overflowing through my eyes
like acid tears,
And I am melting,
Dissociative and helpless.

I am through
and it’s all on you,
You could stop this if you choose,
But you refuse
to let it go,
Your heart is stone,
Your hooded deeds are hammers striking bone,
Your words alone are iron
and I am pummeled from a lion
to a haggard Jouvet cat,
Slipping from the only consciousness I had,
My head is lolling,
The water’s calling,
I am falling,
I am drowned,
The roar of life
has dragged me down
and it has left me
without sound,
Silent, bloated, blue.

I am through,
and it’s all on you.

Well played.

Eyes Wide Shut

I lay here
conversing with
my inner

We try in vain to find
the drowse,
But sleep still lurks
around here
Hiding like a
sulky child,

A night hag pins my
limbs akimbo
as memories
the peripheries,
In the very edges
of the darkness
I can’t hold on,
I am not me,

I lie at the end of
One Night’s Slumber
but One Night’s Slumber
is avoiding me,

Instead you’re left
with this imposter,
Who screams
at a pitch
to make hearts bleed,
With a tongue that lashes,
flails, belabours,
forked by the dryness
of fatigue,

And I’ll not know
the Sandman’s wonder,
Perchance to sleep;
Forgo the dream.

Prelude to a Kip

Oh, why can’t I sleep?

Why’s this happening again?

Is that… a fox… I can hear?
Or a baby in pain?!

Did I lock the front door?

Is the dishwasher on?

What did I miss in the meeting?
Did I say anything wrong?

God, is that my stomach?!
When did I last eat?

Should I nip down for water?
Or will that make me pee?

Where’s my bottle anyway?
Is it next to my Kobo?

…Oh! Could Jane be the killer?!
But then wouldn’t Nick know?
Or are they in it together?
Did I think that before?
Is it wrong to want Nick dead?
…should I just read a bit more?

Damn, is that a headache coming?
Great, now what do I do?
Have we still got some painkillers?
Or did I take the last two?

Wait, are they… shouting next door?

God, is it really half past one?!

Why’s this mattress so lumpy?
Can I justify a new one?

Do I drink too much coffee?

Should I try that technique?

Oh God, why am I awake?!

I’d kill Nick for some sleep!


napo2014button2This poem was written for NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt was to write a poem where every line is a question, except for the last one. This poem was inspired by my nightly routine – it takes me a very long time to fall asleep – I find it hard to switch off my brain – as you can tell!

Dying Light

I’m more tired than I can handle. My
light a dying candle
that flickers as it burns
and as it yearns at
the mercy of both
the very breath that ends
me and Sleep’s oh so dulcet zephyr as it
turns and sways me at its will!
And still I slumber not
and scarce can dream the last
time that I felt like me. That the
darkness was nought but night
That the daylight was just a pure delight. But
– ah –
to be free! That promise (that my
soul holds dear and that my foes
would gladly steal) is elusive and
mischievously unreal. Oh
how it taunts my
thoughts, how it says we’re friends
and then how quickly does that friendship end! It
takes so much more than it gives
as it cradles me so tight, a
helpless, babe in arms, a naïve lovely,
Drowning in the charms of dying light!

This poem was written for NaPoWrMo. The challenge of the day was to ‘write a golden shovel’. If you read the last word in each line of my poem, it will reveal a poem called the First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay (written in full below).
I had such great fun writing it, hope you enjoy it!

First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!

– Edna St. Vincent Millay