Insomnia

Sticky hours of tossing and turning, cursing and lurking. Lying in bed, a million thoughts racing through your head, million dollar ideas that at the time seemed so clever, but in the light of day, in real life, so trite and trivial. Be it thought induced or love induced or drug induced it’s always the same: paranoia, nervosa, darting eyes, piercing pain. It’s lingering obsessions that forever rain in your brain and stick like lint or stubborn grass stains. Daylight, and the bickering of birds, and fresh morning dew, and a cup of morning brew, all seem so far and away as you lay in your 400 thread count grave. Counting sheep, urge to weep, urge to leap, hell, urge to fucking finally sleep and close your eyes and slip into sweet slumber makes a man so very humble. The minutes turn into hours turn into lifetimes of watching infomercials, as you think about your future, and for a brief moment you may actually consider picking up that phone and buying that informative packet promising riches and gold, assurance and status, and your piece of the pie. Operators are always standing by.