Departure Induced Insomnia
The yellow street lamp shines
Through the panes, but it does not touch me.
Making a puddle of light on the floor, where it lands.
My walls, muddled gray, a camouflage
Dappled war paint, objects slightly visible.
Open window, the night air enters. Warm,
Like a deep breath of tomorrow.
The crickets, wringing their hands, make
A sleepless soundtrack for me.
We want you home, why did you leave us?
I have a place of my own and I am happy.
In the cotton restraints of my sheets,
I look up at the stars, we gaze at each other.
They embellish the long, amethyst mat of twilight and I nothing.
Do you miss me?
We miss the way you used to be.
Their cold light shoots against the glassy squares.
Branches, long knobby fingers, cascade into green growth.
They reach for me, they are shadows, they are hands.
They scrape on the panes in time with the crickets,
If you go too far we will forget you.
You already have, so have I.
I move, across the great expanse of a mattress.
I turn my back on them, I drift,
Into a world of my own with soft, blurry edges
And new companions.
I sleep. The branches still reach.
I do not, for, I have something of my own,
A subconscious world,
Bright and sweet.
And they, the nocturnal world that wraps around them.
And together, we forget.
—By Victoria S.