The Insomniac's Curse

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Dark Side of my mind.

Sleep.

It's all he wants.

It's all he needs.

He tosses. He turns.

Tosses. Turns.

He sits up. He lies down.

Sits up. Lies down.

He flips the pillow over, 

hoping to find the thing he craves the most.

His search is useless, 

but he still performs the nightly routine.

He counts sheep:

1...2...300...301.

He takes every brand of sleeping pill available,

but wakes up trying to force his tennis shoes into the toaster.

He paces around the bedroom. 

Thoughts dart endlessly around his restless mind.

He is angry, frustrated, exhausted, and most of all sleepless.

He drops to his knees.

He prays to God,

the gods, 

the spirits, 

the Sandman, 

the Boogeyman. 

He pleas anyone who will listen.

All he receives is silence. 

Silence that brings him even more pain.

He climbs into bed one last time.

He has a quick midnight snack of Ambien and Vodka.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

He has finally broken his curse.