Sleep comes to the thoughtless
My most restful nights have all been
ones I can’t remember.
A still brain that couldn’t fight
the hypnagogic fizzle of exhaustion.
The texture of the ceiling above my pillow,
matches the back of my eyelids.
I have given up
on trying to get there.
I was never destined
to dream through
darkest parts of the night.
Sleep comes only to the thoughtless.
My brain loves an excuse to keep me
attentive to ideas that can wait for tomorrow.
All night my hypnopompic thoughts remind me
of what I’m not doing.
My brain will never get out of bed tomorrow
I’ll be fighting myself every stumble of the day.
I am assuring myself that
I might not be sleeping,
but at least I am getting some rest,
and that will be enough.
This is the familiar lie I tell myself
when I’m facing a whole tomorrow
of nothing I want to deal with.
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