PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sometimes I can be so lazy and do nothing at all. I just sit and type. But I get so exhausted, because my mind doesn’t shut off. When will the explosion cease? My precious bottle with all my emotions so neatly tucked inside of it finally exploded - the cork hitting me hard right in the face. That damn bottle. I tried to put them all back in - but they didn’t fit in again. It just broke, shattering into a million pieces, cutting me like a shiny new blade. I didn’t clean up the blood. I was too exhausted. I just lie there letting it dry and crust over me…now picking it off like a scab, re-infecting the wound.

My smile is getting rarer to see these days. I would smile, just to hide the pain - but I have no energy to bend my mouth into that shapely little curve. It hurts my face - my tired, expressionless face. My eyes are rarely dry anymore, and the sockets are sore from so much crying, and being peeled open. Dark circles under my eyes are what remains from the day, the shadows of my soul resting solely on my lids, making my eyes heavy, but alas, unable to sleep, still. My mind is running like a frantic little mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor in the last second before the cat snatches it up as its midnight snack.

Oh, I would sleep. I would love to sleep and have happy dreams - or even not dream at all. But I fear what the night lies in store while I slumber. Will I awaken and see him standing over me? Will I wake up at all? Or maybe I will awaken to my last breath, gasping for one more scream into the world, hoping someone is awake to hear me? Will I awaken to a house full of emptiness? Will mom be there? If she should breathe her last breath, how would I hear it if I were asleep? Will I wake up to find that all has been taken in the midst of the night? Would I forgive myself if all these traumatic things happened while I was oblivious to the world? NO! I think not!

It was, after all, my father who stayed up night after restless night worrying about his family, checking in on me, as I, myself slept, to be sure the covers weren’t over my head. Staying on guard until he was convinced that even an intruder would be too tired and asleep to think about barging into his home. But I, night after sleepless night, am already fighting off the intruders as they barge into the door of my mind, violating my every thought, my every shudder, my heart, my soul, my sweat, blood and tears. If Daddy hadn’t checked on me each night, would I still be here? If he hadn’t given up his sleep to keep this home safe, would I be here now, pacing in this dark room checking in on my nephew to make sure the covers aren’t over his head? Making a loud crashing noise to get a rise out of my mother…just to make sure she hasn’t already taken in her last breath. Sometimes hearing her voice at night screaming at me to be quiet and “go back” to bed is my favorite noise to hear…it means I did my job for the night. At night, I never have the covers over my head - I don’t miss a thing. Rest in peace.