sometimes sleeping feels like being awake

by Marisca Pichette

i dream of insomnia

thrashing in sandpaper sheets

wandering white-light halls

wishing for rest.

i slept once

before my eyes shed their lids

before my body unglued

and everything broke

as it grew.

sunsets herald more than darkness

imperfect shadows reach

but their fingers—insubstantial nightmares—

fail to grasp for long.

i slip

i slide

i drag myself down, down

into mattress springs

exhausted from holding me up.

i'm not alone, here in the vacuum

where rest and consciousness flee.

i make my bed between regrets

and leftovers, hobbies begun

and never finished.

trading prayers, we ask each other

how everything else—it seems—

has learned the knack

but together we toss

we turn

we murmur wishes

for deeper dreams.