ode to insomnia
(in memorium)
the struggle is non-existent, the paranoia insistent. my old tricks of listening to my pulse to drag me under dont work, instead i end up smothered by my own skin and gasping for something i dont think i want. i could count until the world stops making sense but i’m pretty sure thats what got me in this mess in the first place, and i still dont know the difference between being an insomniac and a little bit insane.
but the night time is all i’ve known for as long as i can remember, which is why it’s fucked me up so much to find myself abandoned by my techniques; after all, i am a well-practiced professional, but it’s getting harder and harder to tell the difference between the voices in my head and the ones i imagine.
but this is me and you, and you and me, until we’re through. i’m a believer, baby.
(the walls are moving)
