Sunday, January 14, 2007
sleep
for fo.sus(I)
Mornings and nights are the hardest, you say, sleeping pill in hand.
Sleep might or might not be found in prescription bottles. The surest way is to scoop out your heart, leave it on the bedside table, next to the alarm clock, so it might wake up tomorrow morning.
When you lie down, your head is a pocket of uneasiness and pillows.
There are pillows everywhere. Pillow between the walls of your hips, cheek pressed against pillow like a lover, pillow under your head to catch you when you fall from a dream into memory.
The blankets slip over your back like a stillborn wave.
Your back is a comma that does not know where to go after its temporary pause.
The view from my bed: boxes of unlit lights, some burning with bodies in sleep. The street lights cast an orange wakefulness on their sleep. fo.sus, what do you see?
When sleep loves you, it loves you like love does not.
(II)
In the morning, the pillows hug each other in a stack of three.
The blankets protected you from the cold last night. In the morning, they are cold.
In the morning, the bed becomes a piece of furniture once again, waking from its dreams.
(III)
fo.sus, loneliness does not call itself loneliness. It is never lonely, it accompanies so many people to sleep.
strangemessages at 5:26 AM
2 Comments
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at 1:27 PM
said... let me be the first to say how much I like this, esp the bit abt the heart getting scooped out (:
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at 9:08 PM
strangemessages said... yay, thank you muchly! =)