Inn-Sum-Knee-Ah (“Insomnia”)



I throw words at the ceiling fan

to break them apart over

the bleeding sheep on the carpet.


One. Two. Three. Four.


Pepper it over the bodies

while the fur is still waving

to the wind of the artificial air.


Five Six Seven Eight


My back cracks more than the

tocking insanity of the creak-squeak-squawk

crocked blame of the spinning blades above me.

I still can’t breathe.


Nine ten eleven twelve


The purple spot on the wall wanders between the bitter

clouds and the rocking streetlamps that wink,

as if to welcome me with “We are not sleeping either.”

But we will watch.


Thirteenfourteen.


That might be a good thing if I didn’t have my eyes closed,

burning from the inside out.


Fifteen. Sixtheen. Seventh

Sleep.


...

Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.

I’m obsessed
with counting.
Even the 47 steps
to my English class.
When that became
boring I created a way
to document, not  
time, but distance.
And 47 turned to 54.

681 days since I
cut 11 inches
off my hair.

359 days since he
said Keep in touch
when the last
thing I wanted
to do was touch him.

319 days since she
didn’t text back and
then 294 days later
moved 1,731 miles
away and by now I
wouldn’t even know
where to send a letter.

One day
I decided to get
another haircut,
but I no longer bother
to know the measurements
of the pieces that
are only going to be
swept away.

One, two, three
He walks in
Like a burning rose with
Icy flames
Making my head burns
And freezes my eyes
Looking at him.

Four, five, six
He caught my staring
And smiles sweetly
His voice trembles, saying
"Hello, what's up?"

Seven, eight, nine
I hold my breath as hard as I can
Wanting to scream
On how much he made me feel
Of a single hello
Could made me think of nothing
But making him my
Golden cage.

Ten.
He claps his hands
And walks away
And talks about
How my eyes froze
At him.
Looking
At
Him.

one. two. three.
but i've forgotten
forgotten how to count
how to feel
how to live
how to know
forgotten how to breathe
how to see
how to sing
how to show
how to show the difference
between laughter
and the heartache
what is real
four. five. six.
or have i?
have i forgotten
perhaps we become
what we say we will
or more often than not
seven. eight. nine.
we become what we promise
we will never be.
ten.

Oh me, oh my. It would seem that I've forgotten how to count!

Six trains have gone by since you fell asleep. I hope you heard them in your dreams. I wish I could see your face when you're asleep and your lips are the most innocent. I wish you would have stayed.

It's been 494 days since you left.
Wow.
You would think I'd stop writing about you.
We were together 237 days.
It seems like nothing really....

And I've known him for 287 days.
And yes he makes me feel better but he doesn't love me the way you pretended to.