A good night’s sleep is all I crave.
But, I have become a slave to my disorder.
Limbs once nimble now churn as I burn
the midnight oil. I toil each night
seeking rapture. But I have been captured
by my demon and random thoughts swirl
as if strewn by the wind of memory.
Heart beating faster, a runaway freight train
through the prairie of my barren soul
with no control of my own.
I cough and groan, throat emitted as I spit
in a foaming fit of rage, roaming the halls madly.
Sadly, I’m ready for a padded vault.
It is Disruptive Sleep Apnea’s fault.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
Wordle #111
Written for the SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle # 111
and presented at POETS UNITED – Poetry Pantry #153
How about a CPAP? My hubby has one, and he is now very quiet at night.
Use the infernal machine, but I get so restless (my overactive imagination, me thinks) that my mask slips and it’s ineffective. I replace them faster than I fall asleep, Sheryl. Although, for some reason those word evoked images of my disorder.
Wish there was a switch to slow those thoughts down at night!
I have similar issues with sleep, although not apnea. Your poem and the circumstances you describe are very familiar to me. And I can see how these words would make you think of those restless nights and the need to do what you can’t. Frustration to the max,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
Oh! I just want to sleep. Right this second, I can relate to this poem.
/limbs once nimble now churn as i burn/ sounds almost Edgar A. Poe-ish, I like it. Thanks for sharing this one!