Nice to Next to

sinking into a tar pit, can’t move an inch. lungs fill with burning, vision fading to black. I can still hear my children asking where I am then I wake up, start the whole thing over again. is this the stress of modern living, or something rotten and ancient? am I like Rey from The Force Awakens a conduit for some evil nogoodnik? the doctor prescribed pills, but they just turn my stomach, interfere with my presentation on dwindling black bear habitats. if I’m late again for pick-up, the daycare might call the cops but I really need a matcha frappuccino. does that make me a bad mother I’m at my wit’s end, can’t get a night’s rest the more I sleep, the more exhausted I get. what do I do without you? you were so nice to next to. it was better back then, resting my weary head on the heaving waves of your barrel chest, imagining myself a pirate princess in the captain’s private cabin. but they say god called you back to heaven ’cause he needs strong men for some undetermined purpose maybe he’s building a wall. you were always so good with your hands. oh, I’m at my wit’s end, can’t get a good night’s rest. the deeper I sleep, the less I want to come back to my flesh. you ate my bad dreams like a three-egg omlette breakfast. what what what what do I do without you? you were so nice to next to. warm meat breathing slow, regulating my racing heartbeat: a reliable metronome.