Something’s wrong.
I can’t rest, can’t sleep
can’t find comfort
in a bed and sheets,
or warmth, safety,
a pillow beneath my head.
I can’t sleep.
I’m in a perpetual state
of pure exhaustion,
eyes a desert,
on fire,
burning eternally.
My mind stops,
a fragment of thought a refrain with no end,
half-finished stories, prolonged ideas,
persisting,
day in, day out,
no rest for a wicked mind,
and
I can’t sleep.
Pith and Prattle 