Sleep why dost thou leave me?
Oh to see the reel of dreams play within my brain,
To relieve the aches and pains of today, believe you me, I’d pay
A fortune or maybe three.
For now, idly in my bed I sit, eyes wide open
And mind hollow but filled with shit…
And also regret, mostly that I let
Myself, with hesitation, full of trepidation, lest what I think
Might happen, actually happen
(And it did , oh God)
If I should stir from my rest, yet again…
Get up and drink that cool,
Thirst quenching, fucking refreshing
Glass of water
From my Brita water fountain.
Because, of course, I can’t sleep if I’m thirsty!
No! Thirst is the murderer of slumbrous activity,
The killer of a good night’s natural affinity
To close your eyes and wander that realm
Of wonder that is made up of
Imagination, the day’s experience and other memory.
Thirst is the ultimate executioner…
Well, that and the need to pee
Which I have a sneaking suspicion
Is now sneaking up on me.
So off I go to wee.
And I am surprised at how little I need
To relieve myself, as I sit, bum on freezing porcelain and squeeze.
Oh how my body sees fit to deceive me!
That I got up out of my bed for this, desperate as all Hell to go,
Only to expel but the tiniest bit!
Oh well. Maybe now I can finally-
Just kidding, fucker! Please! that would be too easy!
What? You think that I’d just be able to just retreat and ease myself into my blankets
For some glorious, well earned zzz’s?
So naive it’s almost endearing
But instead of resting I’ll be seeing and feeling and hearing
Zillions of unnecessary or uninteresting or unwanted things:
Memories I mostly don’t want to relive or remember
Hypotheticals that are too strange, too scary for a rested mind to even consider
Emotions not explainable by common sense
And that irritating song that was overplayed on the radio last December.
I silently beg for serenity
For a stillness of my consciousness.
But to try and purge, to supress this mess of thoughts and words
Makes, in retaliation, upsurge
The dull chitter chatter of my brain,
To a screaming, table slamming argument
With as much reason and rhyme as the migraine-inducing
Conversation clatter of teatime with the Mad Hatter.
Painful to say the least, and driving me just as much,
If not more insane.
But you know what they say? Sometimes the best ideas come at night!
Well, alright. Although occasionally, when I do find that some epiphany
Reveals itself to me, in an explosion of neurological confetti,
Come the light of morning, the bright idea is gone from my mind, lost in the duration
Of time or the expanse of space, or replaced
With the realisation that the bright idea
Wasn’t that bright in the first damn place.
But maybe… I need to suffer before genius emerges.
It’s impossible to gain anything on the verge of significant or witty
Without at least enduring a bit of pain or a time fairy shitty…
Or so I’m urged to believe, because if not, I’ll be forced to accept
That this is all for zilch, for nil. That I’ve been directed into climbing uphill
Only to inspect views of a garbage till
Or wreck. And at this point I can’t conceive it.
My brain simply rejects the possibility that maybe
This torture doesn’t connect into some
Salvageable excuse for a night unslept.
So here I am. Ready for inspiration to befall me, for its glory to enthrall me,
Right before I manage to finally fall asleep.
Yes, I am tired beyond belief,
Sure, I’m dying for relief,
Of course I’m becoming woozy,
I can barely think ahead, and my rhymes are starting to really suck
Because, well, fuck! My brain is cruisin’ along on this long, noisy, winding trip
Where all roads lead to thoughts of snoozin’.
But I am resigned to the fact that inspiration, like sleep, creeps in at its own pace.
So I will stop fighting my consciousness,
This mad battle for dominance,
And let the rattle just happen naturally.
Perhaps then, I’ll find that the right
State of mind will come to me, in time.
If not now, then maybe tomorrow night.
Until then, even if a bit too late,
Sleep, for thee I shall sit and patiently wait.