The Ceiling Game

I stare at the ceiling,
playing that wonderful ceiling game
that happens when your eyelids defy
your wish, and stay open forever.
Only the moon and the clatter of the ice maker
-woosh plop- to keep me company.

I hate this.
Why can’t I close my eyes
and find the sleep I desire?
Why can’t I wake up to a sunny day,
cardinals twittering their tune,
and not feel like it’s mockery.

I’d like to remember a day
I didn’t wake up tired,
like a bulldozer hadn’t
run over me in the night,
and put it in reverse for a second shot,
but the memory isn’t there.

Frustrated, I rip the covers off
jumping out of bed and tearing
out of the house, as if the devil
pursued me.

But it is my devil that follows me.
I run, run, run, into the woods,
Moonlight shows the forest path.
It wanders aimlessly, just like me.
No point, no point at all.

It doesn’t matter though, does it?
My body will not sleep,
so I will never rest.
If it was as simple as words,
I guess I’d be sleeping beauty.