Insomnia

A lavender-scented pillowcase cradles my weary head

And lifts my mouth to the breast of slumber,

But my lips curl inwards and refuse to seek

Refuge from the maternal figure of Peace.

White noise prickles and scratches against my ear canals

As it wiggles its way into my tired soul,

Where it hatches an egg and sits on it

Waiting for the chick of fatigue to emerge.

Sleeping pills offer me dreamless dreams

Waking and fading and drifting and floating,

on the silver pond of subconscious-

that place within us all that is intangible but reachable.

It is only when the curtains begin to glow

and the backs of my eyelids cast a pinkish hue across the front of my brain,

that fools me into watching a sunset of memories

when the oil of sleep slithers to soothe my ears

that I rest.