Heart Insomnia

My truth, once more, I haven’t rested in a while

the moon guides me again to look for that sound

after all at this hour nothing’s alive in the aisle

still not knowing silence I sleeplessly wander around

everything’s detached but to fidget there is no peace

because hearing it so close fills me with unease

 

My senses on the edge to an unwanted compulsion

where does it come from to be so haunting?

this sound trapped in my throat becomes my obsession

it got my voice but I wish deafness not to hear it pounding

for it to end, I’m back to my bed asking please

but covering my ears I just feel it increase

 

And I often forget to breathe so I have to reconcile

before the burden on my chest gets even more profound

maybe my soul is not used to heaviness of existence

yet falling asleep was never meant to be literal

 

I create so many scenarios my thoughts to release

while in my sleep I try not to have an anxiety attack

eventually time will pass but it acts like I’m deceased

although closing my eyes I can see my mind is not black

since the shadow under my bed is hiding in my head

and I fight with it to leave some words in my memory

the mind works colourful dreams then steals a piece

and not to forget all of it I note some “anilorac”

 

Countless times I woke startled in the darkness

to find myself writing words I somehow made up

dying at night doesn’t scare me like those air losses

in a teenage dream hurt me way more than a breakup

purple bruises back then were just ink on my knees

blurred marks to prove a creative disease

 

Whose cure is thinking of me in a parallel maze

I can solve this puzzle but I get lost in a gaze

because if I draw it like Daedalus I won’t need a thread

thousand lines will combine harmoniously like a spider web

 

I lose myself in open eye lucid dreams like oneirophile

starting to believe in a reality I could be if blind

I went from “I don’t want my heart to beat tonight”

now I can’t die until I finish writing its story

 

This sleep’s interlude seems to be my eighth vice

I give it more space and then call myself insomniac

so easy to lie to your own mind and drive into the abyss

just to look for some meanings and come back

after an unconscious dancing I wake up tired

unless I write them I can’t remember their reality

therefore at dawn I can decide to destroy or kiss

my mind’s reflection as a dream look alike                                                 

When I’ll feel that sound again, I’ll look inside my hand

peace of mind that I can attain:

the advice is to breathe, I can make it concrete

to overcome this heartbeat