Stages of consciousness 


Bad sleep is a quarter past wide awake

Bad sleep has no deadlines,

drags its feet and has no regard for time

bad sleep knows how to make silence sound the loudest

bad sleep knows the rules but doesn’t follow.

Bad sleep says “I know your body needs rest but what about me?”

Bad sleep has the worst hangover

Bad sleep drinks a lot of red wine and pretends it’s the blood of Jesus

And who wouldn’t want all things holy coursing through their veins?

Bad sleep goes to bed naked,

allows the gentleness of the breeze to flirt with the softness of skin

but still keeps your demons within earshot

bad sleep remembers every little detail,

bad sleep remembers too much

bad sleep gives birth to a million thoughts

and keeps you awake all night long.

Bad sleep is no sleep

No sleep means no dreams

And what’s life without a dream?

Bad sleep comes alive at 2am

And pushes your monsters to the front of the line





This is not a poem.

This is a loophole of an unconscious body

This is a fear of a daydream imitating a nightmare

This is  3am on the bedroom floor

sieving the ugly out of your thoughts

This is the boy who sent tremors through your body on a Thursday night,

When we all know that the last time you witnessed an earthquake

you weren’t old enough to say vagina out loud

This is a new feeling in an old poem

It is the surprising veracity of your own breathing

It’s a trick of the dark, projecting monsters out of your consciousness

This is the voices in your head killing you before you can silence them

This is what you do with the pain of heartbreak

When it knocks the wind out of you

This is injecting other people’s realities into your life,

because you’re too familiar with your pain to smell the stench.

This is meeting nonexistent deadlines.

This is what you do with insomnia when it crawls into bed with you

When it maps out memories of events you’d rather forget

Nobody prepared you for this aching

Nobody told you sleeplessness comes with headaches

that pounds like a band playing a tune the devil would march to.

This is what insomnia looks like





Love letter from Sleep.

Dear insomniac,

I may not have afforded you the luxury of lucid dreaming

I may not have offered you dreams of splendor and plenty

I may not have gifted you the beauty of not inheriting bags underneath your eyes

And I don’t think I’m particularly eager to change my mind about these things

But I pass through a million bodies every night and I swear to God,

when you stop overthinking, imagination will be yours forever.

The gods don’t envy you because you can die every evening and wake up new.

The gods don’t envy you because you have the power to live a thousand lives in every dream.

They envy you because you don’t need to die to be reborn

Because you’re sanctified by your struggles

Because you went to bed a sinner and somehow came out holy

There is a lot of dreaming to be done, but the gods can wait for a while,

Tonight, come and watch the stars with me.