Dreams of an Insomniac

As my skin goes cold with awe, I clasp my hands, in prayer, at the rainbow’s end.

Perhaps, here, I will find the virtuous gold I’ve searched for in the prophets’ eyes.

My chin folds sleepily into my chest, as a man in a pink leotard

Spills spaghetti on the ground, a look of tired agony in his eyes.

My feet bent behind their heels, I float above the ground, because why use my legs?

The red and white of linoleum tile and steel lockers flit by my eyes.

Hot, angry teeth rake my stomach, because breakfast is at 3pm… again.

Hands shake as I force down stale pocky, staring blank through blurred, unfocused eyes.

A girl with alabaster skin whispers sweet nothingness I can’t understand.

But we don’t need language to translate kisses, or the soft flames behind our eyes.

I tell myself one more song will do it, one more note will quiet the screaming

In the back of my brain. I sigh, knowing it’s a lie, as I rub bloodshot eyes.

Broken glass on shag carpets as a bear BREAKS INTO THE FUCKING LIVING ROOM!

Why won’t you move, legs?! Don’t give me that asthma shit, lungs! He’s got death in his eyes!

There was a man named Arthur, who stayed up at night to laugh and dance with the muses.

It pained him when morning came, so full of people who saw only with their eyes.