Your eyes open, but not intentionally. It's as if the night's anesthesia has been lifted, and your eyelids flutter open. They're heavy. You're midway between sleep's paralysis and waking's motion. Look through the spaces between the blinds. The sky isn't as black as you think. It's the type of sky that can mean late night or early morning. You're not sure which you'd prefer. Voices on the television are trying to sell acne treatments and quick weight loss tips. You don't have to look to know what their owners look like. Happy. Smiling. Plain haircuts and colors. Clear skin. Enthusiasm. You wish you could be them. Enthralled by walks through forests and afternoons on wooden swing sets. You hate them because you can't believe them. You can't sleep without the murmur of their voices lulling you into scarce periods of sleep.
You long for these fleeting comas. The only useful distraction. How much can you write in a day? Paint in a day? Read in a day? Fuck in a day? Sing in a day? Speak in a day? How many times can you forget a lifetime only to remember it again when your eyes open, when your hands start working right? How long will it feel like a lump in your throat? A welling of tears that never spill over?
Turn off the television. Lay in silence. On your right side. Then your left. Then your stomach, but never your back. Breathe. Count your breaths. Remind yourself to breathe. Tell you're brain to stop. It's time for rest. It's time to stop fighting. The silence is louder than sin. What is all this noise? This pounding? Stop breathing.
You knew it was your heart. You know it's always this loud. And everyone else knows it too.
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