Master of my own insomnia
A melatonin gummy container sits empty on a nightstand stained with camomile rings
I have earned these purple crescents
Like the blurred edges that crease my waking dreams into paper airplanes
Fleeting and wrinkled like my bedsheets
Mistaking auditory hallucinations as muffled voices under my skull
Under my bed frame
I wash my pillowcase again and again
Wondering if it might help me tell the difference between the stars in the night sky and the floaters that dance in my eyes
When will I be able to dream again?
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of mostly free verse poems and short stories. Sometimes it is nice to simply clear your head. *Trigger warnings: descriptions of disturbing themes such as: body horror, death, interactions with the uncanny, topics in biology, and suici...
