The
problem with staying up
later
than any sane individual would
is
not that I end up wasting the daylight hours
or
yawning insistently all the next day.
No. The problem is much bigger,
much
more important than any of that.
The
problem with greeting the dawn
before
my head hits the pillow
is
that there are no distractions.
Nothing
but my thoughts
to
keep me company
and
occupy my time.
Not
nice happy thoughts either
of
laughs shared with loved ones
or
accomplishments grand or small.
The
darker it gets in the world outside my bedroom,
the
darker the thoughts that flit around my head.
Thoughts
of people who played with my heart
like
it was a childhood toy.
Memories
of lovers who left me alone in tears
and a
bed far too big for one.
People
who hurt me stand like ghosts in the room,
each
wound they inflicted fresh as the day it was dealt.
No longer
content with the wrongs I’ve been dealt,
my thoughts start on my own imperfections.
The
features on my body I wish I could change
if
only I had the money and no one would judge me.
A
list of failures big enough to fill a thousand tomes,
each
seeming monstrous in size.
I
finally concede to go to my warm bed
when
I see my fears slithering toward me from the side.
But
sometimes sleep doesn’t stop them
and
they creep into my dreams instead.
