The Scavange for Slumber

I’m going mad.

If not now, then soon.

In the midst of night… or morning, I know not anymore, I am most certainly maddening.

Many hours have passed since I first mounted my bed, yet not the faintest sign of slumber.

Although my body is still, my mind is not.

I’m a slave, an alert servant to my spiraling thoughts.

With inquiries, ideas, memories, and more, my mind is flooded with the obscene.

It seems to not stop.

There hasn’t been rest for me.

I narrate my thoughts in whispers,

So no one but I can hear my own thoughts.

I inquire, ponder and just reminisce.

Perhaps this will tire me?

I’ve been awake an hour more, to no avail.

My eyelids feel heavy.

Perhaps now I’ll finally sleep.

I’ll close my eyes and hope that I soon sail into sleep.

What’s this?

What are these colors of the coldest of hues?

I’ve closed my eyes, yet I still cannot rest?

Lunacy.

I am ready for sleep, yet all I see is bits of color here and there; curious, I chase them in my head.

It’s been an hour more since I last whispered a word.

Acute. My hearing so acute.

I hear a train, distantly,

Also a dog from afar.

What kind of cargo does it hold?

What could’ve startled the canine?

…

Make it stop…

All I want is sleep;

To slumber at least till morrow.

I am definitely maddening.

I hear voices, or is that voice innate?

It curses me.

It dubs me damned.

Hell, its right.

I am damned.

Damned to experience the trance of insomnia.

I feel so dirty, yet I’m well groomed.

I feel ill.

My eyes are red, stingy, and full of tears; they’ve been open so long.

I wish…

For my body’s sake, for my mind’s sake… that I sleep soon

Just a few hours of ephemeral peace…

Just a short escape this dawn…

The sun seems to be rising.

And so goes another sleepless night.

Every effort, futile.

Every hope denied.

So be it.

I’ll eventually go mad.

None will matter when I am no longer sane.