Sleeping Alone, poem by Drem
June 26, 2016
“I don’t mind being lonely anymore.
I just mind sleeping alone.
I realize now while sitting here in silence
in front of my laptop
with the air on
in my tiny, rather empty, bedroom
how little I’ve valued time
and how much I hated it
all along as I went with life.
It’s pretty isolating
when you’re stuck in your own head
and outside is too quiet to be heard
over the very loud mean voice
that lives in you
and eats you up all the time.
Over and over.
I’ve been too busy running.
And to people
who can’t save me
and wouldn’t if they could
because if they did
it might get out
that they have compassion.
And I’ve been too busy hiding to or from
a self-induced purple fog
or a raining blue chemical imbalance
or a synthetically made prescription peach.
They cause unsteady feelings, land legs on water,
anxiety as I approach the manic episode
flying faster than those hover trains in Asia.
Going, going, going-
two feet too high to make it through the tunnel
but it’s too late to turn around
and I’ve been waiting for this subconsciously
because I’m sleeping alone and I don’t like it.
All I’m trying to say is, I guess,
I get why cuddle-buddies are a thing.
And why people like to hug each other now.
And why people are okay
living in a hookup culture.
It’s fine being lonely.
But sleeping alone… no.
It’s too much.
Nights are too scary.
And they are too cold.
And we are all getting too old.
We might even die in our sleep.
We’ll then die alone.”
(C) Drem 2016