Holes In My Head Where My Heart Leaks Out

 

or somethin'. that's the problem with escaping into
sleep. when you really *need* to sleep, you can't
because it's like you've got this stash of sleep hours
that overflows so you stay awake and listen to the
god damn birds wake up and think to yourself, i've
been here before.

and your lover becomes restless in his sleep because
you're tossing and turning, or you're reading with the
light on, running your hands through your hair over
and over, it's soothing, but not enough to put you to
sleep and he says, "baby? what's the matter?" and
you say, "shhh...you're sleeping. it's a dream." and
if you're lucky he believes you, but most times not,
so you get up and wander your house like the ghosts
that haunt you, peeking through windows, trying to
find a place that's comfortable, but you can't.

so you come in here, look at these words other people
have written and you take more stuff that "makes you
drowsy so you *can* fall asleep."

waiting.

waiting for all the holes to close themselves and for
your body to adjust to the loss of precious things, vital
organs, things no one should be living without.

you kick yourself for having smoked too many cigarettes,
you look at his pack and think, "he won't miss one or two,"
but you end up smoking four and you know he'll look at you
with those soulful brown eyes and he may say something,
but probably not, just look at you like you've disappointed
him *AGAIN*, well, duh.

and it's all because of these holes in my head where my heart
leaks out.


denise

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