Sleep haunts me at midnight
and I wait for the ghosts.
My dreams wail for closed eyes,
but I am stubborn and I stay
wide awake protest.
I count the minutes in tile lines,
shadows, and bucket list requests.
I convince myself I still want to be an astronaut,
and I will visit the moon,
so sleep can wait to bring sugar
to the Man in the Moon.
I keep myself awake for goal setting,
and try to fool myself that insomnia
hadn’t brought depression to room for the week.
Poetic Trials 