so many nights spent
tossing and turning
chasing errant sparks
of dreamembers
hoping to catch fire
with new creativity
only for sleep to come
and the pockmarked whore
showers me with flecks
scraped from childhood hells
a consistency of pain
in capsules of motherly hate
a bitter aftertaste
where i understand
the mental hoops
my mind catapaults through
in order to preserve
these shreds of sanity
sleepless miseries
untouched by the ghoulish
memories long buried
or sandpaper eyelids
scraping with every
furious fit of yawning

i long to sleep
the same as the dead
no recycled imagery
or static agonies
if i cannot stroll
the wildflowers in
her perfect smile
then give me the long
dark hallways of oblivion
where life is the dream
and forever is a myth
used to scare bad children
sinking into the emptiness
that cradles our hearts
the nothingness swaddles
our dessication
and mourning is that awaits
without you