POETRY

Insomnia's Lullaby

A persona poem written from the perspective of insomnia reciting its sleepless song to my brother

Photo by Beazy on Unsplash

The clock ticks, grim reaper’s
finger leaves a cold and chilly
mark on your skull.
Sheeps count themselves,
1,2,3,
but no number is ever
sleepy enough.
Their wool cloud-bleating
only mocks your need to fade
into the rabbit hole.
It mocks your will to sleep.

Moonlight spills like hot milk
not making itself into
the black coffee.
Shining light on the bed bugs
parading all around and below.
The silhouettes on the wall staring
at you with no face.
They are tired of standing and
want you to shape them
into bed.

Outside, the world is hushed
and quiet.
A soundless agreement was made with you absent.
Your heart beats a frantic drum
and like a tattoo, it refuses to
leave you alone or…