Vertigo

Groan. Morning comes hither,
to bark as the sun rises and yawns,
stretches her rays upon cream walls.
An alarm clamors, then shrieks.
Time to hit the snooze,
snore for another nine minutes
until the next chime of the clock.

No, not today, he contemplated.
He would linger in a state
of semi-consciousness;
the truth is, he had no place
to venture, nothing to accomplish.
To sleep or not. It consumed
his life, like a half-eaten roast.
He rolled over once, twice,
hauling off the outer blanket.
The right temperature to return
to a land of tranquility and--

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!

Damn it to Hell. This time he disabled
the menace! Laying there, he yearned
for a way out of this snare, this trap,
that held him hostage in his sacred refuge,
a reason to thrive despite colossal odds
and incandescent incapacity.

We all covet that liberty.

But, he was dumbfounded,
overwhelmed, at the single
possibility that things would abscond
constant, like a searing shipwreck
from a hungry, unruly hurricane,
a sentiment that something was amiss.
When you have vertigo, there is literally
only one place to land: the ground,
that inflexible, edgy surface.

His dreams reflected his disposition:
anxious, introverted, depressed, livid.
He had become a conch shell
that has misplaced the sound
of the fluttering sea, drifting
on a raft over boundless waves,
discarding him on to empty shores,
or plunging to the treacherous ocean
floor with all its frenzied dangers :
sharks, octopus, stingrays, jelly fish.

Friends had stopped visiting, calling.
Strange how fickle life can abandon
you at the bat of an eyelash.
Where are you when I need you?
It was a question solicited to no particular
soul, one that became a mantra, a murmur,
a constant buzz, nesting in his brittle heart.
Once so generous and full, he was the king
of his lavish throne; now, his bed possessed
him, both sanctuary and prison, a trap
concealed, one not to be trusted.

No, he considered, better to sleep.
No need to dwell in dark corners,
empty playgrounds. Slumber offers
at least temporary solace, until the new dawn
winked at him, and the process regenerated.

Tears salty.
Face flushed.
Dreams shattered.
It was his destiny.
And his only.
Sleep.
Sleep.