The Cousin of Death

The sun is coming.
And it will scream inside your head.
Everyone will see.
Everyone will feel your sickness.
A streetlight ever outside your window,
Moths, bashing at the bulbs inside your eyes.
Screaming inward.
Caving inward.

Voices that are not your own.
Coup d’etat of the mind.
Nowhere to go.
No legs.
No road.
No map.

You can’t lie down when you’re already lying down.
They say sleep is the cousin of death.
The absence of sleep,
Will make you pray for cousins.

Gord Laws – 2016

This is a tough one for me. It’s from a set of three poems I wrote when I was trying to encapsulate my experiences, nearly dying from acute insomnia. I had dealt with the condition for about four years, but kept it under control through medical treatment. In August 2016 though, it reached a breaking point and nearly killed me. Days at a time without sleep was hell, but the medication, which seldom worked, was worse. I eventually found a specialist and a programme that got me back to normal, but it was a long hard road. It was, and to this day remains, the darkest period of my life. I hope it stays that way.
See also: Scheduled, Event Horizon,