Consumed

Sometimes darkness is just perfect - 

it’s all I want in that moment,

to lie there, 

one leg beneath the sweltering bed covers for protection,

second leg dangling over the edge of the mattress into the cool unknown,

the rest of my body surrendering its dead weight into the wheezing springs,

coughing up their bronchial tendencies as I twist a little,

mess my hair up a bit,

dressed for absolutely no one,

choreographing my restless dance of comfort-seeking,

while I stare directly at 

the night.

It’s not a gentleman, this blackness - 

smoking puffs of afflictive silence into my ears,

as if graveyard muteness is natural,

but through further observation 

it hangs perfectly mellow, 

and touches like a moist whisper dangling across my skin,

unnaturally tasteful,

a luscious syrup to those accustomed to wandering

without food, water, or weapon,

we hollow souls,

walking the fields of deliberation,

while it watches 

so keenly. 

It’s interested in my every dejected move - 

in the cringe of agitation after looking at my clock,

the hard ball bobbing in my throat 

as anxiety transforms into sweat,

the rotation of my face 

from one wall to the next,

like a ship caught miserably between stormy waves,

spinning on the current to find a beacon,

open arms,

a loving gaze,

someone’s chest to lean on,

someone’s sense of approval,

someone’s unconditional everything,

but the shadow stays quiet in my commotion

and opens the gate further.

Time feels irrelevant within the nighttide - 

and there’s an unspoken sense of “anything goes”,

as if death’s presence wouldn’t surprise me,

just another midnight obscurity,

as I sink deeper,

straggle farther,

burying myself into the caverns of lightlessness,

me, myself, and this watchful shade,

existing together in a lonesome pilgrimage

to figure out how far I can go,

what lies at the root of all things 

that tickles and burns

the root of my consciousness,

the heart of my solitude,

the seed of my essence. 

Even as dawn rises,

the night prevails - 

sometime along my journey

I had gulped the darkness whole,

and the sun is just

a memory.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

If silence were golden many a soul would be made far wealthier by loneliness. I gave up drinking alcohol and the doctor gave me pills to take for insomnia. The pills made me feel like I was dying rather than falling asleep. So I had to give up the trazodone too. So now I just go and go until I burn out and collapse and I'm up a few hours later. I'm told the drug is used for depression and while I do suffer anxiety and depression from my bi-polar...the pills certainly were not for me. The television burns blue and long into the night sometimes. Then I try to find the old film noir movies and black and white tv serials. I enjoyed this read because I could relate to it on a personal level. The writing is perfectly descriptive of the depressive/anxiety state that brings on insomnia. Very good imagery throughout.

[Kay]

Hey Fabian, sorry for the delay in my reply! I've had so much going on lately, but I sincerely appreciate your review! Thank you especially for sharing your personal experiences, it's really eye-opening how the ordeal itself can feel completely solitary and yet it's remarkably universal. I can definitely relate to the the T.V. burning blue into the late twilight hours. Sending warm thoughts your way during those tough times, just know that you're not alone! =)

[Chris Shaw]

Creatively expressed Kay. Consumed is an excellent title. I certainly felt that way as, I read your lines of nightitude. An insomniac myself I am quite used to the silent company of this "gentleman" and all the anxieties and lack of perspective that long nights can bring.

Chris

[Kay]

Thank you for sharing and I really appreciate your feedback! =) Long nights can definitely be a blank slate for the mind to crack open Pandora's box haha. It's an interesting change in relationship with the self between day and night.

[Chris Shaw]

You are welcome