Restless

 Laying in bed, in the dark. I stayed up too late.

Poison of modernity rattling around in my skull. Air conditioner fan humming along in the window. 

A week had passed in a haze and I thought I was going to move easily through it. I thought, I thought.

To hell with it. Say it.

I roll over and pick up my phone. The glare stuns for a moment and I squint, open the app. Open the message. Type.

"This is all a real bummer."

I hesitate for a moment, and decide to just say it. Send. What does it matter now? Might as well.

I don't wait for a response. I roll over and try to sleep. Waves of blacker than black sweep across my vision, a swallowing void. Intricately detailed images grow and change inside it. Beyond realistic. More than that. A hand. A face. Faces. Melting and gnashing. Every night. Faces and teeth and melting and gnashing. I usually forget by the morning, but each night I am reminded and I know that I am falling asleep.

The recognition of that pulls me back for a moment and I'll have to repeat the whole process, again and again. I think about the message and the last week and a handful of small moments. A knot under my ribs. I want to look for a response but I don't. I had my moment of weakness and now I have to sleep. 

I shift uncomfortably to my other side. Nothing feels right. A crawling through my body. My brain racing and fighting itself. My fucking feet are hot under the blankets. I kick them off.

Wish it was Friday so I could stay awake and pace the house. Wish it was months ago so I could keep myself in line. Wish it was years ago. Wish it was over. Wish it never began. Fill a bowl with water and fucking scry about it. What happens next?

"Oh my god, shut up," I whisper into the dark. 

Lie on my back, stare toward the ceiling. The room only barely illuminated by the small green light on the air conditioner. My room. This box. This casket. Bare walls and cold and dark. Stare toward the ceiling. 

Unsend it.

Leave it.

Unsend it.

Leave it.

It didn't have to be a cold situation. It felt cold. Unsending would reinforce that, but leaving it would expose me. 

Shift again on the mattress. 

I consider how I'll feel about it in the morning. In the daylight. How I've felt in the past in similar situations and I think; 

It's not too much. It's honest. Leave it.

I leave it. I roll again to my side, facing the wall and try to close my eyes. Wait for the blacker than black. Wait for the gnashing and melting. Wait to never feel. Eventually they all must have come for me, because then; morning.

Again and again.