Insomnia meet Anxiety, Anxiety— Insomnia

I sleep like a house on fire.

What I mean is

I sleep not at all.

I sleep like the ease of turning away from double-fatalities car crash.

There’s blood in the carpet.

Definitely won’t come out.

Windshield, shivered itself into bits.

And the rafters keep crumbling.

Crumble, crumble, charred-mistakes.

Too much heat to still the bones.

Too much smoke to inhale, exhale, repeat, repeat.

Eyes wide.

Like earthquake tumbles.

Seismic pulse.

Like storm, unpassing.

Like brain-thoughts, tumble-cycle spin, turn-over, spin.

Like end over end.

Eyes wide.

Mattress made of food poisoning to stomach-lining me.

I sleep like it’s vomiting me up.

Or I sleep like I’m vomiting my sleep.

Or I sleep like I’m vomiting myself.

What I mean to say is

I sleep not at all.