There are not many things that can scare you
when you have insomnia.
Just like the fact
that there are not many things
that can put you to sleep,
Exactly like the fact
that there are more things
that can keep you awake.
Like the side of the bed
that is always either too warm
or too cold,
like the sound of fan,
switch it off,
like the light
from the phone charger,
put it out,
like the collar of your T-shirt
that grows small on you
once get into bed,
The first symptom of prolonged sleep deprivation is usually
As though to tell you
that your memories
can be less hurtful
with lesser colors,
as though to tell you
that the blood on your wrist
after the 3rd cut is not red but grey.
I once painted my brother’s drawings of flamingos
with the color green.
I once took 3 hours
to find a baby pink scarf
for my best friend.
The past is always bright
in gay colors.
No wonder we build our castles
on shifting sands
and here I am
trying to repaint the past
with a white that is diluted
to look like water
with a cotton swab for a brush.
I hate the color green
mostly because I can’t see it anymore.
It is scary of how much I can hate
that I remember so less of
and yet never for once
I began to hate it in the first place.
If remembering is your problem
stay awake a little longer,
Listen to the noise inside your head,
a piano someone is playing
with a hammer for fingers.
That my love is the sound
of your brain cells dying.
That is them choking themselves with their dendrites.
That is them killing the parts of your brain
that keeps you alive and not the parts
you would trade with the devil to help you forget.
That doesn’t scare me either.
I once walked right past home
and didn’t recognize it for the next 3 miles.
I once mistook my phone for soap
wondering why there were no bubbles.
I’ve walked into traffic too many times,
I’ve been hit,
I’ve been yelled at
And have almost killed
I think my brain is trying to kill me,
Giving me an easy way out.
That should scare anybody.
But that doesn’t scare me.
I’ve stayed awake long enough
to see my worst fear take shape right before my eyes.
To listen to the voice of my dead friend,
to tear away all the curtains in my house
because they remind me that someone is going to die,
I’ve hallucinated my way through depression.
I know that this weight of sleep
that I’m holding off on my shoulder under my baggy eyes,
Under my weakening knee will drop over me one day.
One day when I’m riding my bike
in the cold December winds
and the helmet gets warm like home
and the road looks a lot like my bed.
And all the sleep will come down pouring
like a building rigged for destruction.
My blood and brains will be graffiti on the pavement.
I know that death will come to me that day.
But that doesn’t scare me either.
The only thing that scares me is that
I can lie next to him and close my eyes
and sleep like an infant
with my lips still in his chest buried.
Like a lost sheep rescued by its Savior,
Like a guilt that found its pardon,
Like the storm between our nostril.
That I can for once forget to think,
if I’m alive or dead or decaying.
Will someone tell him,
this is as close I can ever get
to falling in love.
And that scares me!