in the shaking of a
dark room, under the influence of
doxylamine, where
a hand is poison to the
insomniac mind -

a nightmare, fresh in the mind,
sweet as a ripened berry and
toxic, toxic, toxic to the mind;
your hand, my face, pull closer,
eyes shut... revelation is that,

with every second you spent
pulling at my hypothetical strings,
i spent two hundred fold
staring at the wall in front of me,
trying to forget.