sleeping pills

looking out, past this dark, to that tunnel of light:  pushing my face closer to the computer screen.  looking around for anything that’ll give me the kind of dream i want to have instead of just these wasteful lapses in memory.  a pink-skied morning. God breathing life back into this body. and these first reactions i get from other people when i walk sidewalks and grocery aisles are all based on the flaws, imperfections, and overall attractiveness of it.  waking up to a life that’s been stripped a little more of feeling.  a few new things that have come up missing, and i can’t ever pinpoint what they are.  but notice their absence.  hearing birds.  i don’t understand.  hearing the children waiting for their bus to arrive, and i’m trying to remember what it was like when i was as young as them, but that seems like another life.  the dead child that left me in his place, i see.  he went into the woods and didn’t find his way out before dark.  he took his tiny boat out on the water.  a lake with stars at the bottom.  and i am here, trying to remember my past so that i can build on something, but i have to make things up to fill the gaps.  and now i’m mostly lying about everything.