socrates complained about eating, i'm complaining about sleeping.*

i'm not afraid of death,
i know most of us remain
as gravestone lucky
for the random flower
candle or wreath,
for a priest's land-tax,
a double phobia
hardly a worth of an urn
of ash in pagan circumstance;
me? i'm afraid the sleeping pills
i'm taking (amitriptyline)
will not work with the alcohol
i drink (on the prescription
it says to not take sleeping
pills with alcohol... honestly?
sleeping pills don't work
without alcohol);
i'm ready for the last goodnight,
i'm not ready for an insomniac
night; i simply hate waiting,
esp. when it comes to sleep:
shoot me and i'm adoringly great...
keep me waiting and i think
life's a prison, which it is, given
the circumstances.