circadian cicada

my sleep patterns of late
accurately reflect
the rainfall in the desert
the night is absent of
morpheus and his magic sand
evxcept for fits
of violent unease as ripples
of anxiety infect the
oasis of dream just over
the next rolling dune

i see the vultures circle
blinking furiously
to remove the floating dots
of amorphous inky spots
that may or may not be scavengers
preferring cactus buttons
to seeking moisture within
the sands peel the skin
from my forced smiling face
as i seek a brief respite
from the brief respites
spitefully given in this
pseudomanic state galavanting
in a deep dark
dastardly depression

i am tired
my thunderous yawns
have silenced the world
until i can no longer tell
if i have drifted off
or if i am being mocked
falling farther from
daydreaming of naps
sleepwalking through life
unable to saw through the rope
as the anxious anchor
slips to the silt
of wonder crushed to dust
sucking exhaustion
from the tailpipe of dream

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