An Insomniac’s Insanity

Last night was a surreal trip of a fallen women found inside the folds of the thick molasses streets of her mind. Trapped by the mania, my skull grew busy with bodies resurrected by the witching hour. Their solemn pace was echoed by the erect hands of my wall clock whose face eavesdropped with judgement. Innately out of sync, the beat of my own heart fell half-time to my pulse racing in double-time through my tightening veins. And from my bedroom window I watched the night sky swell with anticipation and vast absurdity all at once. My body ricocheted with a slowed palinopsia effect, as everything around me played on fast forward. Disembodied voices shouted spoken word from the back of my head, as an uproar of Vivaldi's Spring haunted bouncing against the walls of my brain's cask. I could smell warmth permeating from beneath the earth's crust, life rushing palpably through the roots resting in the darkness. I tried to write down the words that I saw scripted in ash rising up from my own embers of flesh on fire, but my hands were paralyzed. I was completely coherent yet caught in-between the layers of white fuzz consciousness, and it somehow felt safe. In a crescendo of lifetimes erupting for one solitary night, my path was burned in front of me. The past and the future weaved into a braided communion arousing all of my senses into a state of euphoric enlightenment, and I was finally fully awake.