Narcolepsy* hard and heavy watch me fall asleep
            Lulled to bed in a cunning thread of the tangled web we weave
    I dream in pristine colors, windows of my mind anew
No fingerprints or ***** looks or evidence of you

         I find comfort in forever wherever it may be
        I may have left my home but it will always stay with me
                 The smell of all the smoke with the sound of all the rain
   On constant playback every second deep within my brain

        I found that time is all that matters and everything else faded
        I spent years and years learning how to forget everything I hated
    I've only gotten older and have nothing left to show
              Except a ringing alarm clock and blood on my pillow

     Narcolepsy** hard and heavy watch me as I sleep
     Another pill, another high, another date to keep
      If I shall die before I wake, I hope that I'm with you
    Then it won't matter where I go, cause you will see me through

I bet you never got to know
That I wasn't always depressed
I was always narcoleptic

Every time I told you I didn't feel good and couldn't see you
I wasn't depressed
I was narcoleptic

That message in March
Where you said you even loved when I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed
I was narcoleptic

I couldn't help it
People never understand, it's like how you feel when you've been up for days
I was narcoleptic

I could sleep 12 hours
And not feel refreshed, because my sleep doesn't heal me, like it heals you and others
I was narcoleptic

I know I took those stimulants
But they made me edgy and nervous, and I turned into a ****, so I didn't take them but
I was narcoleptic

You see, those stimulants, Vyvanse
Made me feel like I'd been up for days but running on 2 pots of coffee because
I was narcoleptic

A man who has been up for days
Is not often the most polite and I hated being impolite so I stopped taking them but
I was narcoleptic

So I spent my days sleeping
Sleeping till noon, then needing to sleep at 3 PM, until 10 at night and then until noon because
I was narcoleptic

Your stepdad said he wouldn't stand for that "crap"
But I couldn't help it, I wanted to see you more than anything and I knew it hurt you but
I was narcoleptic

Not only am I narcoleptic
I think I have fibromyalgia just like my grandmother, who loves you too, I think,
I have fibromyalgia.

Today I'm still narcoleptic with fibromyalgia
But I've found a cure, a mix of two pills, one for the narcolepsy and one for the pain
One pill is designed for nothing but narcolepsy (not ADHD) and the other a narcotic for the pain
You'd have no idea how much better I feel than I did before
You'd have no idea because you don't care to learn who I am
Because I'm not who I was, I'm refreshed, something new, I'm normal for once
Not just feeling bad, not just tired and sore and fatigued, not so depressed I can't get out of bed

Just narcolepsy and fibromyalgia.

When did it happen?
When did I stop being awake?
I don't know if I've ever really been awake.

What does it feel like
to want to do anything that you have to open your eyes for?
"Wake up," they say,
"You're going to sleep away your entire life."
But I see more with eyes closed
than I ever have with eyes open;
What really separates a dream from reality?
My dreams interrupt my reality all the time
and I can never be certain of anything I think is real.

All I know is that we're staring at the ceiling at 2am
just trying to figure each other out,
and suddenly I'm somewhere else
and you're someone else
and I'm saying things to you that don't make sense
and you're confused.

I'll come back from a dream just as confused as you are,
Not with eyes torn open, because they hadn't been shut,
but with nothing more than a shake of the head,
an embarrassed apology
and a disappointment in my inability to remain conscious
even for you.

I know it scares my mother to know
that I drove 62 miles to see her
but I can only remember 37 of them.
But I can't tell you how many poems I don't remember writing,
that contain words I've never used before
and a feeling I didn't know could be described.

When I was a little girl
all I wanted to do was sleep.
I dreamt of growing up to find a husband
and living in a beautiful house with him and our children,
and I'd be happy and have everything I could want.
I dreamt it.
And it felt real.

I decided then that if I could dream it, that was enough
because at least for the time that I slept, it would be real.
It's harder to make sense of real life
when you aren't required to be a part of it.

This brain will never have the control
to stop from slipping in and out of consciousness.
I may never fully wake up.
Any hour may have in store for me only
a dark fog of amnesia and a life that isn't mine,
ready to pull me in and drown me beneath the dangers of my own eyelids.

But that place is the place I know the best,
better than any place conscious minds have ever met.

Eyes closed.
Eyes open.
I don't know where I am,
but I am here.

Tired of being called names and listening to complaints from your partner because you snore at night?

But more than that, it is important to keep a check on your snoring as an excess of it can be an indicator of many diseases, one of them being sleep apnea, says Dr Kaushal Sheth, ENT surgeon, "People develop sleep apnea when their airway collapses partially or completely during sleep due to various medical conditions. This causes the oxygen levels in the blood to decrease and can be potentially life threatening when it becomes obstructive sleep apnea."

Elaborating on it further, Dr Jayashree Todkar, bariatric surgeon and obesity consultant says "Snoring is an indication of obstacles in a person's breathing. When excessive fat accumulates around the stomach, the lungs do not get ample space to expand when we inhale oxygen; this in turn leads to obstacles in the process of inhalation-exhalation."

However, there are many myths surrounding snoring which is a very common problem. To sleep better one must get rid of the myths that surround snoring and only accept the facts, says Dr Viranchi Oza, BDS as he gives us a lowdown of some stories around snoring:

Myth: Everybody snores, therefore it's normal.

Fact: Snoring is not a normal condition. Labelling it as 'normal' diminishes the seriousness of the condition. Snoring is not just about annoying your partner, it is a sign that the body is struggling to breathe properly during the night. Snoring on a frequent or regular basis has been associated with hypertension and can also be an indication of sleep apnea (pauses in breathing). Sleep apnea sufferers have been reported to have diminished gray cells in their brains, most likely due to the oxygen deprivation of untreated sleep apnea. If left untreated, sleep apnea increases the risk of cardiovascular disease over time. In addition, insufficient sleep affects growth hormone secretion that is linked to obesity. As the amount of hormone secretion decreases, the chance of weight gain increases.

Myth: Snoring only affects the health of the snorer.

Fact: Snoring doesn't just negatively affect the health of the person snoring, but also the health of the person lying next to them in bed. A typical snorer usually produces a noise that averages around 60 decibels (about the level of vacuum cleaner), but with some people this can reach 80 or even 90 decibels (about the level of an average factory). Sleeping with a partner who snores during the night has been shown to increase the blood pressure in the other person, which may be dangerous for their health in the long term. Snoring also causes the partner to have fragmented sleep and lose up to one hour of sleep

every night.

Myth: Snoring comes from the nose, so if I unclog my nose, my snoring will stop.

Fact: Having a stuffy nose can definitely aggravate snoring and sleep apnea, but in it's not the cause. A recent study showed that undergoing nasal surgery for breathing problems cured sleep apnea in only 10% of patients. Snoring vibrations typically come from the soft palate, which is aggravated by having a small jaw and the tongue falling back. It's a complicated relationship between the nose, the soft palate and the tongue.

Myth: I know I don't snore, or have apnea. I am fine.

Fact: Don't ignore your wife when she tells you that your snoring doesn't let her sleep. When a partner snores it is very difficult for the spouse to sleep. There are people who snore excessively and suffer from sleep apnea, but feel absolutely normal. However, snoring increases their risk of getting a heart attack and stroke. The only definitive way to prove that you don't have sleep apnea is by taking a sleep test. Screening questionnaires like the GASP or the Epworth have shown high reliability in identifying patient risk for sleep apnea.

Myth: If I lose weight, I'll cure myself of sleep apnea.

Fact: Sometimes. It's definitely worth trying, but in general, it's very difficult to lose weight if you have sleep apnea. This is because poor sleep aggravates weight gain by increasing your appetite. Once you're sleeping better, it'll be easier to lose weight. This is the one ingredient with many dietary and weight loss programs that's missing or not stressed at all. It's not enough just to tell people to sleep more.

Myth: Health problems such as obesity, diabetes, hypertension and depression have no relation to the amount and quality of a person's sleep.

Fact: More and more scientific studies are showing a correlation between poor quality sleep and insufficient sleep with a variety of diseases. Blood pressure is variable during the sleep cycle, however, interrupted sleep negatively affects the normal variability. Recent studies have shown that nearly 80% cases of hypertension, 60% cases of strokes and 50% cases of heart failures are actually cases of undiagnosed sleep apnea. Research indicates that insufficient sleep impairs the body's ability to use insulin, which can lead to the onset of diabetes. Fragmented sleep can cause a lowered metabolism and increased levels of the hormone Cortisol which results in an increased appetite and a decrease in one's ability to burn calories.

Myth: Daytime sleepiness means a person is not getting enough sleep.

Fact: Do you feel very sleepy even during the day despite the fact that you had a long night of proper sleep? Excessive daytime sleepiness can occur even after a person gets enough sleep. Such sleepiness can be a sign of an underlying medical condition or sleep disorder such as narcolepsy or sleep apnea. Please seek professional medical advice to correctly diagnose the cause of this symptom.

Myth: Getting just one hour less sleep per night than needed will not have any effect on your daytime functioning.

Fact: This lack of sleep may not make you noticeably sleepy during the day. But even if you've got slightly less sleep, it can affect your ability to think properly and respond quickly. It can compromise your cardiovascular health and energy balance as well as the ability to fight infections, particularly if the pattern continues. Lack of sleep has also been associated with road accidents (up to 60% of road accidents involve lack of sleep) and air crashes (Air India Mangalore plane crash in 2010 was due to lack of sleep). Sleeping for less than six hours a night is equivalent to legal levels of alcohol intoxication.

Myth: Sleep apnea occurs only in older, overweight men with big necks.

Fact: Although the stereotypical description does fit people in the extreme end of the spectrum, we now know that even young, thin women that don't snore can have significant obstructive sleep apnea. Sleep apnea begins with jaw structure narrowing and later involves obesity. It's estimated that 90% of women with this condition are not diagnosed. Untreated, it can cause or aggravate weight gain, depression, anxiety, diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, heart attack and stroke.

Myth: Snoring can't be treated.

Fact: Have you given up on your snoring thinking that it cannot be treated? There are many different options for treating snoring.

Some treatment options are rather drastic, possibly requiring surgery or prescription drugs, but prior to exploring such options it would be wise to first seek out alternative treatments. You must visit a sleep specialist to get the right diagnosis.

Myth: Extra sleep at night can cure you of problems with excessive daytime fatigue.

Fact: Not only is the quantity of sleep important but also the quality of sleep. Some people sleep eight-nine hours a night but don't feel well rested as the quality of their sleep is poor. A number of sleep disorders and other medical conditions affect the quality of sleep. Sleeping more won't alleviate the daytime sleepiness these disorders or conditions cause. However, many of these disorders or conditions can be treated effectively with changes in behaviour or with medical therapies.

Myth: Insomnia is characterised only by difficulty in falling asleep.

Fact: There are four symptoms usually associated with insomnia:

- Difficulty falling asleep

- Waking up too early and not being able to get back to sleep

- Frequent awakenings

- Waking up feeling tired and not so fresh

Insomnia can also be a symptom of a sleep disorder or other medical, psychological or psychiatric problems. Sometimes, insomnia can really be a case of undiagnosed sleep apnea.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

“I am tired,”
I say

You ask if I was up late
Last night

And instead of telling you about
My hypocretin levels I nod
And laugh and say
“Something like that.”

“What, are you tired?”
My coach asks

He thinks he is
Trying to motivate me
But he does not know
That my very existence is
Bone crushingly exhausting
And yes,
I am tired
But I wouldn’t expect him
To understand
So I say nothing

When I say I have narcolepsy
And you say
“Must be nice, being able
To fall asleep anywhere,”
I have never related
To Ted Bundy more in
My entire life

You suggest I stop
Drinking coffee

I suggest you stop breathing

Teachers talk about the
Impact of sleep on
Mental health and
I think
Maybe that’s why
I’m always depressed

My doctor suggests I stop
Drinking coffee too
I am a little worried now

I google
“Caffeine related heart attacks
In teens”

My findings are not enough to
Convince me and besides,
A hospital visit
Is just an opportune moment
For a nap

I always end up on my own at the end of a night,
Last one standing when dawn breaks on the sleep deprived.

As Sid once cried out "I'm so alone!";
Yet saving face all the time.
My soul hurts when I can't help it,
I try so hard but I can't let 'em know it.

That drained feeling at sleepless dawn
as the sun rises while I yawn.

Sitting at my little desk
cluttered up with nothing real
so it looks like I have work
a little heater on my feet
epitome of luxury - warm feet
how time drags away today
so much behind to do at home
alone inside this little room
where photos line the wall
with other people’s happy day
would it be sacrilege
to ever put a sad pose
in the frame that
held such shining joy
≈≈≈
another wall is cabinets
with everything that
I might need for anything
but where is the band-aid
for today and the
cure-all for tomorrow
as I sit and wish that I was gone
to any place but here
≈≈≈
narcolepsy goose-steps in
battalions of its troops-
a war I must not lose
I cannot leave and
beat retreat
I must stand firm and fight
until the razor
hands of time
cut through the bars
that keep me here
unwilling but required
≈≈≈
for I support the camping trip
that we call daily life and there
are hungry mouths to feed
with names like heat and light and
shelter from the winter
they bring their cousins
food and clothes and
go juice for the car
to stand in line
on my front porch
with hands outstretched
demanding
≈≈≈
sometimes I muse
on what would happen
if i just turned out the lights
and locked the door
against intruders
and tap danced away
would there be a net
to catch me
if i jump too high
or dance along
the precipice
without my contact lenses
≈≈≈
now I recall
the words my mother said
when I would dream out loud
“wish in one hand
spit in the other
and see which one
gets full first”
good ole hillbilly philosophy
≈≈≈
so here I stay with a frozen clock
an antique desk
with a vase of crimson
bougainvillea I snipped
off the hedge
across the parking lot
I must have flowers
on my desk and
in my home
my very soul demands it
but never if I buy them
it requires the vaunted
ingenuity my mother
preached to me  
to keep the vases full
≈≈≈
what ceramic vase
 would I fit in
I’m neither rose
nor orchid
would I be
a whole bouquet
or just a single daisy
silliness to ponder
fourteen kinds of nonsense
≈≈≈
still the pen
stays wedded
to my finger
not yet done
with nonsense rambling
though I’ve said
most everything
I need to say
≈≈≈
I’m over half the
way to freedom
looking for a coin
to buy away
the final hundred minutes
will it be the radio
a game of solitaire
or just more
claptrap from this pen
≈≈≈
the usual fall back
crossword puzzle
points up my aphasia
and I’m in no mood
to face humiliation
once again
≈≈≈
how slowly can I nibble on
the sandwich
left from lunch and still the time
procrastinates
my mind at last is blank
And now is the acceptance
I can’t scribble on forever
it’s time to
put away the pen
and hide this diatribe
out of the public eye
And head at last for home.
                ljm

I'm just

I can't feel my lips
on my face
so still
i cant move them
on their own
i can't tell if they are parted
i can't tell if they exist
i can't feel my hips or
my feet, or my lefs
i can't move them
i can't feel them

i want to break
i want all of the confusion, the disconnectedness
i can cry

but i can't escape this
and i can't can't escape this
there is no break

a million scattered shattered steps
stood stunning
chameleon flattered

I can't move.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6n_z-FdEkw&feature;=youtu.be
^unlisted

During Thanksgiving Break of 2013 I was on my laptop.
Looking up videos on Narcolepsy.
Mainly because I was into discovering what that was.
Anyway, I had watched some videos.
And I suddenly saw a video that was all about her.
And of course I was curious.
It was called "The Best Of Jinkx Monsoon on RPDR".
Short for RuPaul's Drag Race.
And I clicked on the video and decided to watch it.
Immediately, I was hooked.
She was so funny that I laughed at everything she did,
I also learned things.
I learned that she had Narcolepsy and coped with it.
That had me intrigued.
And then I learned that she takes being funny seriously.
She's a campy queen.
But she's also extremely sweet and very humble.
She taught me about drag.
I began watching videos that she did about herself.
She had a film series.
It was called "Drag Becomes Him" where she talked.
And I learned so much.
I learned that there was more to drag than just make-up.
Or hairstyles and clothes.
She really puts her all into everything she does in drag.
Jerick Hoffer is the creator.
He's the one who gets in drag and becomes Jinkx.
And I love his story.
Because he was able to come out and express himself.
Sure it was hard for him.
He would go to his Grandmother's house to change.
His mom knew he was gay.
But she thought that dressing in drag was pushing it.
But his Grandmother didn't care.
She was the one who taught him how a lady should act.
He just does the opposite.
He, as Jinkx, says anything without a filter quite often.
He loves doing drag.
He said that it's something he started doing at age 15.
He was on RPDR Season 5.
Switching back, Jinkx took every single change head on.
Had some trouble along the way.
But won her first challenge while acting on ****** Game.
She portrayed Little Edie.
I suggest looking her up if you don't know who she is.
She had a condition as an adult.
And it caused for her to soon lose all of the hair she had.
Jinkx really loves her.
I also know that she is a huge fan of Adams Family Values.
She has a song about Debbie.
It's called "What About Debbie?" and it explains Debbie.
Talks about why she kills.
Jinkx performs that song a lot now when she performs.
But that's not all.
She opened my eyes in terms of how drag is conceived.
It's really a process.
It takes a great deal of time to get ready and she knows.
She spends three hours!
Just getting into drag because of the time it takes to do so.
Best of all, she loves it.
She has a genuine respect for drag and does it in her way.
She knows a lot more now.
Jerick says that Jinkx has improved since being on RPDR.
And I agree with that.
The make-up has gotten way better and so have the clothes.
I watched Season 6 last year.
And I can talk about what I thought and who I liked.
Tell me if you want me to.
Anyway, Jinkx has taught me so much since I found that video.
And so has Jerick.
Who wants drag to be known as more than impersonation.
He wants to break stereotypes.
He wants for men to be able to play girl roles in more than comedy.
And what's wrong with that?
If a woman can read as a man, why can't a man read as a woman?
He even asked that himself.
And I for one think that is a very fair and true question to ask.
Okay, I'm rambling now.
All I'm trying to say is that Jinkx opened my eyes to drag.
And now I get it.
I know what drag means and why it's really a form of art.
Do I know everything about it?
Of course not, I'm still learning as I discover drag queens.
There are so many styles.
And one of them is campy, which is the style she has.
I can talk more about her.
But I would need to have her as the main topic to say more.
So tell me if I should.
And then I can get into more detail about her and her style.
All I can say right now.
Is that because I found that video of Jinkx, I now am a fan.
Of her and of drag.
I don't think of drag as a weird and bizarre thing anymore.
It's an art form.
And I understand that it's acting as someone else, form of acting.
And that's thanks to Jinkx.
And to Jerick Hoffer, the mastermind behind Jinkx Monsoon.

Oh, go on,
and give it up,
you alone and something types.
Heaving thoughts
through throats slit
wide
eyed stare.
While you slept I was surely alive.

Name of Teacher:*___________________________________________
Teacher/Course Evaluation: Fall Semester, Humanities Block (History & English) Hopi High School, Keams Canyon, Arizona, Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA).

_______________ (1) This course was: (A) always different; never boring; sometimes even enjoyable (B) like a sleeping pill, an experience similar to having narcolepsy (C) like being sentenced to a maximum-security penitentiary for a semester; what did I do in a previous incarnation that stored up so much bad karma for me to deserve being here?   (D) a semester living under a totalitarian regime; this teacher would have fit right in with ******’s “Gestapo” (E) what I imagine it would have been like at Herot, Hrothgar’s royal mead hall in Beowulf, whenever the monster Grendel came calling.

_______________ (2) This teacher:  (A) knows how to teach, knows a great deal about this subject and others, creates a classroom atmosphere that resonates with teenagers and truly cares whether I show up ready to learn (B) never remembers my name, let alone my birthday (C) actually hates me and has made several attempts on my life (D) should have his license to teach revoked; can wiring my desk for electric shocks be legal?
(E) often wanders off, leaving us alone in the classroom for as long as 30 minutes at a time while out in the parking lot screaming about aliens and/or Bolsheviks.

_______________ (3) Compared to all other teachers I’ve had since kindergarten, this teacher: (A) is one of the best, certainly in the top 10% (B) has the worst personal hygiene; aren’t teachers required to bathe at least once a month? (C) has the least credibility; he tells me nothing but “lies, ****** lies and statistics” (D) frightens me the most, particularly whenever the moon waxes full (E) is obviously the one most in need of a good 12-step recovery program.

_______________ (4) This teacher’s grading system:   (A) is objective and reflects what I earn; not subjectively based on whether he likes my face or not (B) is based on a point system that is clearly explained and fairly administered (C) is based on assignments that are challenging but not impossibly difficult (D) includes opportunities to earn at least some extra credit (E) A, B, C & D (F) none of these; sometimes I think he pulls my grade out of his ***.

_____________(5) If I could change one thing about this teacher or his class, I'd: (A) change nothing: this teacher belongs in Sir Thomas More’s Utopia (B) insist that he use English in the classroom, not that "clicks and pops" sound-effect language he learned while backpacking in sub-Saharan Africa one summer (C) tear down that rice-paper-thin, cardboard wall separating his classroom from the one next door (D) demand that an FBI Trained and Certified Document Examiner review his BIA job application, teaching credential, college transcripts and fingerprint card (E) remove sheep and goats*.

there's no longer enough sleeping
medication to put me to sleep for a couple
of hours
the doses aren't strong enough to knock
me out of staring at my fears on the
blank ceiling
toss
turn
bury my head
check my phone
repeat
i still can't escape the fears
the ones that i make up in my head
and the ones that happened once before
my biggest fear?
losing you again
but i believe you when you say
you're not going anywhere this time
and knowing that puts me to ease tonight

My skin has been itching for three months
I’m not sure why this is addicting

I’ve crashed a car in my head 3 times today
My mental awareness consistently letting go of the wheel
The Anterior teeth of my mouth have started to yellow in disapproval
I’m not sure why this is satisfying

I’ve been taking toxic psychotropics in light doses more than twice a day
It’s warmth is comforting as the jittering and hyperactivity become null
Bags have formed under my eyes
If you were to open them, their roasted smell would overpower you with stimulation
Constantly on my toes for risk of Insomnia and Narcolepsy
I’m not sure why this is outstanding

Adrenaline is being forcefully factored into my body
If this is the bullet, I’m biting it after an appliance pulls the trigger
As the high passes, it ripples through my mind
An otherwise calm sea, tidal waves pound the shores of my subconsciousness
Vacuum sealed can are filled with awareness
Sleep has become a rare odyssey
Warm comforters are replaced with long trachea trips of boiling beans
I’m not sure why this is alarming

Double trips become tripled and troubling to my mother
Arguments over the hours I shall harvest from the night are increasingly frequent
Slow to roll out of bed in the morning
I don’t hit my carpet, I splash into sugared preparedness
In my backpack hides a cup full of GI Joes
I’m not sure why this is troubling

If anything, I’m drinking a medicine that prevents death by 10-15% for 13 years
The New England Journal of Medicine was happy to acknowledge my existence
Till they announce anything different, you’ll find me taking a mud bath
I’m not sure why this is disgusting

Tell me everything that’s wrong with it
Because from where I’m standing
There is nothing wrong with
Coffee

and i've been tired for so long i can't remember how alertness tastes
because boredom with life is a habit i could break
with a bullet
and a lapse in cowardice.
and when the planets align i know i could
but mars is falling and pluto,
pluto crumbled while i watched the rain.
my roman candles are alight under the clouds
and i let the rain drown the fuse -
i'm afraid to be awake.
stillborn child, i was d.o.a
why change that now?
all these pyrotechnics just
reek of desperation
so i drop mine in the lake where they belong.
with bullets on my breath i watched the rain
while pluto crumbled above
a negligent god let the universe fall,
a negligent god let words of love
be scribbled on the walls of his church.
i'm tired of life and death would be a nice vacation
but i don't speak the language
and the exchange rate is too high
so i sit by the runways
and pretend i'm leaving too.
i watch terminal patients die
and put myself in their place.
dark tattoos below the eyes
like a bad decision
another fight lost.
throw the fireworks in the gutter
and hope the sky stays dark
tonight
roman candle heart sodden with rain,
i wouldn't know what to do with consciousness if i had it.
i fell asleep by the runways and dreamed
that i lived forever
unrequited adoration,
a one-sided love affair
with death.
all my idols were runaways
and i worshiped them like an eclipse
i worshiped everything that devoured itself
and anything that dared approach
they said **** your heroes
and i dropped cyanide in a whirlpool.
the balance between insomnia
and narcolepsy
is fragile
and my inner ears burst when i tried to retrieve my
fireworks
from the bottom of the lake.
too tired to stay asleep,
i watch the rain
and catch fragments of pluto on my tongue.
dead nerves, damp fuse
alexithymia and apathy
lie along my veins like cyanosis
blue lips,
blue lips -
neptune in my mouth like a bitter aftertaste.
pluto below my eyes,
mars drowning at the bottom of the lake.
if the planets were aligned this would fly true,
but the threads are tangled
and it's another casing at my feet.
infinity is not a number, only something you can
reach for
or run from,
cowering in the safety of ze
ro.
the heresy of nonexistence,
the concept of nothing vs the promise of heaven.
in a whirlpool i found my calling.
in a whirlpool i devoured myself
and spat myself back out again,
dissatisfied with the sour taste of
stagnation.
i missed boredom when it was gone,
ached with the hole it left
and the sudden shock of
consciousness.
you know boredom has a smell?
it smells like honeysuckle
and fog
and apples rotting on the ground because
the harvest always passed us by.
i found one of those apples
and filled up the hole boredom left.
rotting autumn in my chest,
apple-heart,
ennui like a second skin
or first language.
i tried to learn another but it remains,
the language i think and smother in.
      you know
in all languages but this
my name means nothing,
just a collection of syllables to spill
out of a foreigner's mouth

in the language of death my name means nothing
but it's all i know how to say

Zen monks sit quietly on
stern pillows of effervescent soul.
I do not,
My patchwork pillow is filled with
styrofoam-- artificial.

Hasidic Rabbis rub their tired pious books
adding more wear marks from years worrying
which appear like a foreign tongue on the cover.
My book is full of yellowed, empty pages
sitting, dust-ridden on a abandoned shelf.

The head of the Shiite rests against solid stone
The penitent countenance like a mirror of Mecca.
My forehead bears only the reddened mark of my forearm
from the vibrant narcolepsy of life.  

The Atheist sits in the coffee house
lecturing the disinterested Baristas
about the tomfoolery of religion.  
I sit alone,
nodding sagely,
sipping wine that tastes
flat against my tongue.

What does a depth of spiritual belief offer?
There is an unwritten, unquantifiable,
essence that belief gives the human.
A depth of meaning, like
a shot of penicillin to a case of chlamydia.

I feel myself falling asleep on the staircase we sat on when you told me for the first time, out loud, that you wanted to die. I can feel the dead breath of winter. I can feel the slow drifting of snow onto my trembling hands and the unforgiving stillness of the concrete beneath me. I can feel your shaking and nonexistent forgiveness towards your own knotting fingers.

I can feel myself dozing off on the carpet you opened your veins and popped the seams of your skin on. I can feel the warm wetness of iron that once flowed through your arteries envelop my eyelids. I can feel your knife saw through my untouched hair. I can feel the soft edge of your cheek turn salty with tears. I can feel the cloth you gag yourself fill my mouth with cotton and the grooves of my teeth with formaldehyde.

I can feel myself awakening in the pill bottle that used to be full. I can feel the milligrams come in doctors note waves. I can feel the ***** climb from the back of my throat. I can feel the dizzy relief of holding back poison. I can feel your sinking regret and all 25 pills of its predecessors wringing your brain out.

I can feel myself opening my eyes in your casket. It is not empty. I can feel the burden of your body beneath me. I can feel the tough leather of your rope burned neck and the dull heat of my skin desperately trying to awaken yours.

Gone is sometimes not an adjective. He is a noun. And he is haunting my dreams.

i'm sleepy of you
i'm exhausted of you
i'm sore of you
i'm drifting off of you
i'm nodding out of you
i have narcolepsy of you
me eyes are starting to hurt of you
i still have to bike home of you
i'm bored of you
i'm restless of you
i'm indifferent of you
i'm worn out of you
i'm over it of you
i've been up all day and night of you
i might head home soon of you
i'm not interested in you
...so fear mounts...

You ask me how I am
“Tired”
I say
I slur

You preach your 3 hours of sleep
As though it is a feat
A competition in your mind
I know I have already won
Yet mine isn’t so victorious

I have felt years of heavy eyelids pulled down by black fingernails, the bruised under eyes and lust for more sleep

A weak bag of bones is all I am now
Collapsed at a laugh
Or a cry
My muscles show no strength
Neither do I

would you mind reading this and giving your thoughts? http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1533551/narcol... it's my boyfriends and i think its really good, Thx :)*

Matthew Conrad  5 minutes ago
i could write many things, the biggest constructive criticism these days concerning any output of poetry is rhyming, rhyming tends to disguise the poet in not digging deeper, in all honesty rhyming poetry is dead, instead there's a desperate need for a narrative, a captured narrative, rhyming doesn't really show you anything other than a strict technique of how poetry used to be written, a very neat Victorian standard of trying to not show your emotions; but to rhyme when talking about something as debilitating as narcolepsy feels like the problem is not really embraced, whereby the rhyming only embraces the routineness of the problem, like a swing... to and fro; if he could just do a carpe diem (seize the moment) rather than stress a whole lifetime's worth of it not changing by engaging in rhyme, for example: ask him to write about a dream, get him involved in remembering dreams rather than the dreary reality, after all... he spends a lot of time in the dream realm. but like i said, poetry these days is really trying to not use too much conscious technique of what was used in the past, not rhyming does not make poetry not-poetry, it just shoves grit into your eyes... creating a sense of spontaneity... plus you feel less constrained to be forcefully hitting an echo.

p.s. necro-lepsy... i'm awake all the time, and i feel i'm dead, the poor guy just sleeps a lot, i'm always dying.

So lost when I feel like sleep
Go back round to the heat beat
That sound taken my two feet
Come take my heart ***** no key
Then you gonna reach my dream
Narco brain rise out of me
Its a chain come shout loudly
Fall asleep now I am free
Lay my head down sit to think
Myself fall down I said night
I'd collapse at some point right
I ran laps round big coins fine
Thinking change hide cash so tight
Take the map out we goin' drive
Take a nap and dream those lies
***** take a seat in my ride
Backseat no front don't you whine
It's night
Goodnight
Wait it's light

My tired dragging eyes
rubbing sleep out of them
or rubbing deeper in?

An impression of exhaustion
in my sallow skin
or my fragile mind?

Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its  best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.

From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.

Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
            This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.

When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.

Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.

Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the  appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water  from somewhere

Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes  and other human constructs!

Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.

Café
tantalizing aroma
evicts every other scent from my nasal cavity
remedy for self-diagnosed cranial narcolepsy
eyelid suspenders

bittersweet paramour
empty mug,
stirs my core
caramel and dark chocolate
micro-foam, group heads and caffeine
velvet layered cappuccino
espresso parts my thoughts

come sip with me

Narcolepsy
Your muscles collapse, palms sweat, darkness drowns your body with a sleep attack. Hallucinations break in and leave your mind numb, while awake at 3 am wondering why? The next morning you think it's going to be better but your wrong. It's an ongoing suffering pain and misery in a darkness that no one can ever imagine  unless they have your "disease"

These feelings come in waves
One second I'm here
the next I'm away

It's like I'm in a daze
Am I still awake?
It felt like a second ago
I was looking at your face

I’d hidden away the mirrors
Packed them up and sent them off,
Taken the shine off the saucepan lids,
Sandpapered the coffee ***,
Everything that reflected I’d
Sand-blast, like the sliding doors,
Even got rid of the polisher
For shining the wooden floors.

It was very like narcolepsy when
She saw her face on a plate,
She’d go in a trance and sit for hours
In a crazy, dreamlike state,
I’d take away the reflection and
She’d sit and weep for hours,
‘You’ve taken away my beauty,’ she
Would say, and take cold showers.

It seemed like a terrible sickness that
She loved her looks so much,
She’d say, ‘If you won’t let me see myself,
I’ll just make do with touch,’
She’d run her fingers over her face
Explore each crease and mound,
And sigh to her satisfaction as
She felt her lips turn down.

I couldn’t get rid of the garden pool
That flowed on in from the brook,
Babbling over the standing stones
From the woods at Nether Hook,
I’d catch her kneeling beside the pool
And staring into its depths,
Smiling at each reflection that
Would ripple with every breath.

‘Beware of the evil Water Sprite,’
I told her more than once,
‘He takes advantage of lovely girls
For he hates to be outdone.
He’ll lure you into a shady pool
With guile, and his tender lies
And hold you down ‘til you surely drown,
You’ll avoid him, if you’re wise.’

She told me then of a vision that
She’d seen, that of a prince,
He’d smiled at her from the water but
She hadn’t seen him since.
‘That’s not a prince but the Water Sprite
And he’s trying to lure you down,
To put your face to the water, but
I’ve told you once, you’ll drown.’

The water was babbling gently on
A sunny day in Spring,
In shades of the weeping myrtles and
The sound of cuckooing,
Miranda was knelt beside the pool
And I saw her head go down,
When claws reached out of the water
Pulled her in, without a sound.

I raced across and I seized her hair
And I pulled her from the pool,
But claws had raked at her pretty face,
She said, ‘I feel a fool!
I should have listened to you, I know
But I thought that just one kiss…’
But he had turned to a monster and
Had bitten her rose red lips.

I put the mirrors all back in place
And I bought new shiny pans,
Polished the floor, you can see your face
But she hides behind her hands,
She never looks in a mirror now
Though her scars are healed and white,
But goes each day to poison the pool
To **** off the Water Sprite.

David Lewis Paget

Like Hitchcock would have said:

Let's go out
On dark waters
Too deep
Because that's where all of you perverts want to go anyway
You don't care about happiness in fairy land where it's raining flowers
You want AIDS, ADHD, narcolepsy, funerals, junkies, alcoholics, ***, ****, ******, brothels, snipers, war veterans, drugs, criminals, motorcycles, accidents, models, size queens, gypsies, hairy hung cops, shemales, ****, ******, robbery, space aliens, punk, romance, opera, revenge...
And probably some splatter and gore on the side
No problem
What do you want to know?
I have no secrets

conduit of bliss

with a phobia
of narcolepsy

-

walking

as if hacked
by a definitely
clever

****     newly enrolled

in a course
on private
speaking

-

my brother

-

who staged
his after life

It follows close to my mind
Infecting those around me
The faces that grew me in one way or the other
Its metastatic narcolepsy filling the world with silence
Like to many candles in the wind
Blew out the breath's light
Snuffing out the beauty of living
Haunting, lingering in the edges
A hope battle that is over before it began.

First phase:
Car windows, cold ones, winter. You were three. To this day from time to time you'll put your fingertips against the glass because it reminds you of simple things from the past. You always thought the world looked looked like it was unhappy from back seats, like it was reflecting your own complacency.

Phase two:
Narcolepsy. You can't stay awake anymore because when you're awake it's like you're dreaming and surrounded by reclusiveness and weeping and when you're asleep it's like you're alive and you're hearts still beating.

Phase three:
Car windows, nonexistent, summer.
You were five, nine, ten, thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen.
Songs. Nostalgia. Windows. Sun. Sticky air, air that smothers you. Smiles with people you love. Songs. Those **** songs.

Phase four:
Punching walls, kicking objects, throwing breakable things, slamming doors. Screaming so loud you make yourself cry.
I learned from the best.

Final phase:
Leaving.

November Sun , refusing to reveal her loneliness , a cloudy piece of the world in tears this morning ..
A red tailed Hawk , grounded by rain just outside my window , a blue dragonfly sailing aimlessly across the meadow ..
The vigor and warmth of Summer , the candle of hope lighting the night has abated .. Tall Oaks , Magnolias and Crape Myrtles like lovers , stand naked , unashamed ..
My eyes have lost peripheral vision , anxiety taken command of my consciousness , rumors of intrigue whisper softly on warm southern winds .. The physical forces in mechanical motion , condemnation of my spirit at the hour of the eruption ..
My demon narcolepsy , a marionette of ploy and trickery for a student of hope standing dead on both feet ..
With a red heart on your sleeve , she wears a smile well , like many a familiar door , slipping quietly from within my grasp ...