In Spite of it All

A Poem by RFDIII

There’s those nights.
Those insufferable nights.
The ones leaving you ponderously awake,
sweating,
Too hot to wear your own skin.

You peel back your embryo,
a thin sheet-layer,
separating it from cohesive bindings
of sweat and oiled skin.

And yet out of all hot hell, there are cool eyes.
Specifically, the bags strapped to the bottom.
Though your eyes strain,
And the headache lingers in like a welcome alcoholic searching for the couch,
the small relief makes bearing vision
a tolerable torture.

A haze engulfs all thought.
An idea to play some music.
But it’s night.
And nothing comes.
You try and think about the day
or the day after.
But it’s trite.
And nothing comes.
Perhaps the mind has simply slow cooked.
Perhaps the heat sapped all will to care.

That night is tonight.
And the heat is insufferable.
And the throbbing pain is sleeping on its couch.
And the sheet is on the floor.
The mind has been roasted ‘til rotisserie.
And the oscillating fan rotates slow.
But the best thing of all,
and in lieu of four walls,
Is that I’m awake.
Awake,
in spite of it all.