Nightmares aren’t what keep me up at night.
I don’t jolt from sleep in a trembling sweat;
the monsters that haunt others do not quite
worry me with their coercions and threats.
I face a different essence of fret.
Desolate, separate; anxieties
squealing and rattling like a cassette
tape being unwound inside my head. Varieties
of harsh collections of society’s
perceptions loom in the glow of plastic
stars stuck to the ceiling. Sobriety,
though, is rare on a planet so drastic.
Staying in bed ‘til the earth’s moralized.
Truly, it’s no wonder I’m paralyzed.