I suffer from

December 16, 2009
I suffer from
Insomnia, a
condition where my heart

runs wild like a naked man
raised by wolves, my brain
ravaged by the sweet nectar
of the Bolivian marching powder,

my liver rot, soaked by the hard
liquors poured shot after shot,
like a montage of that lonely

guy sitting in the bar who just
got dumped by his lover, the
acid of lemons in my eyes, so
sour, yet I cannot seem to close
them as they glow red with hot

lava rocks, my body numb

but ecstatic, sparking with the

itchiness of a thousand crawling

ants but nothing’s there, yet I

still lie like a coffin in the dirt with

nowhere to go even though it pleads

to escape the haunting bugs that gnaw

through the pulpy decorated


I suffer from insomnia.

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