I can’t sleep again. On nights like this my bed makes me ache.
I’m tossing and turning in an ocean of hot itchy blankets and deflated pillows
I lie awake.
My mind is me caught in a small dark room burning at a madding pace bouncing from trouble to worry to factoids to be kept for the next day,
plans and lists that persist and insists that there was something
I forgot to do
or did wrong or
will forget soon.

I can’t sleep and it burns,
the night stretching thin long and lean threatening to last forever and hold dawn at bay.
I feel crazy at times like these,
when there is nothing left to do but lay there and let the day rest but instead I lay awake and let the troubles of yesterday infest the promise of the new today.  I beg for smoke or drink or hell a heavy object
to bestow upon my brow blessed sleep.  

I beg you night, find my restless worry and grant me leave.
I don’t want to meet the dawn, shy as she is, as she creeps into her place.
Her silent footsteps already carried on the wind and I fear she is close.
Let me sleep, let me dream; let me get away from all of this for a while.
Blessed night let me sleep. Too many nights have escaped my hands already and I fear I’m growing senile.
I see the things that were never there and my days run like diluted paint turning the big picture a muddy brown and fuzzy.
Blessed night let me sleep.
I want nothing more than to hold audience for or hour or two.  
To speak my peace and be allowed to stay in your keep.
Blessed night, please, let me sleep.