If latenights are for Vices,
then dawn is for the Demons.
I'll wake up screaming bleeding mouthfuls of mushy nothing
over a stump tongue,
trying desperately to prise open my jaws before my molars split under the pressure.
And all he'll do is sit perched on my chest.
My muscles atrophy and i'll wiggle my toes and dart my eyes about the room through drooping lids
and tap with my fingers like a proactive coma victim with mad beats that wont quit,
and all he can do is sit
through old dogged, dog mouth silver spit on his lips
his jagged teeth gleam
crazy hazy glazed red squint eyes narrow and i'll try to scream

And i'll stand by the door watching myself
prone, listening to my own heart panic and up tempo,
ignoring the weirdness of this existential duality
wondering if i'll ever regain the control of all my faculties.
I can try to mouth some prayers for the good old days when insomnia gripped me by the lobes
or try to slip off again in to the cones and rods that ripple the walls.
To drift away and try at another juncture break my slumber.
To puncture the night sky blanket under some other celestial conjunction,

but i just cant focust thoughts or think straight or lucid enough to function.
Nothing but weakly groaning croons at the moon
and the taste of mercury at the back of my throat.

If i ignore it, it'll go away...

Never in my wildest dreams did i think id be afraid to go to sleep.
--------------------i'm definitely the alphaest male here--------------------
This is fascinating. I'll come back and look at it again in a while, but my first sense is that it's quite good.

The word "focus" doesn't have a "t" on the end, but it looks like that's just a typo...

ending was a let down for me. At least the last line was. Took this awesome momentum you had built and converted it into a party trick. I'd rather it end on the line before; where you just leave us hanging and living and experience with you.

Read aloud, this is sex. Though on the whole, I felt a lot of the images were contrived as hell to make it jog down the page. a lot of good images, but also quite a few where I thought, "really? why'd you do that?" such as: "And all he'll do is sit perched on my chest." You introduce this "he" character/thing and then revisit him as a pronoun again; and then never really touch on it. Felt like a sidetrack, that if avoided adds a much more personal touch to the piece. Other sloppy lines and idea are in there; but really its all forgivable for the sheer sonics of the piece.

In the end, I didn't take much from it other than an image my head conjured of hopelessness and being tied to a bed in a full-body cast with a fully functioning brain and slowly slipping into madness. But it was a fun read none the less.

Thanks for hitting mine.