poem about poisoned sleep
From a liminal space
—a world between worlds—
Doom’s empty gaze fixes upon me.
He takes great delight in knowing I see him;
I close my eyes to think about
the first time I met Doom:
On a sleepless night, then-rare,
no amount of sheep counting or
sleeping draught worked, for as I now know,
Doom has power to poison sleep.
Even with eyes clamped shut,
sleep eluded me for Doom was here.
His footsteps thundered in my chest,
reverberating into the weakness of my mind;
His horrible sneer curled in my empty stomach,
rising like bile till I drowned in hot air;
Suffocating, I know he’s
winning, I know I’m losing, flailing, clawing, but
can any man defeat Doom?
I pray for peace, for the demon to be cast off, for his exile
to Elba,
to the Gulags,
to the Château d’If,
but there is no response.
From a liminal space
—a world between worlds—
Doom’s empty gaze fixes upon me.
He’s won, he’s circling, he’s waiting for my fall;
I open my eyes in surrender to poisoned sleep.