The Rest of the Semi-Righteous

even as sleep calls it escapes him as
he chases it down steep hallways that twist through
endless mazes. his own will defies him and
blocks his every turn with mocking thoughts that
jeer him awake like so many
nagging harpies. biting at his ankles and tearing
at the tender flesh of his delicate
state of mind. someday the clock will die
like a thousand buildings falling in slow motion
he'll lapse into the sweet balm of sleep
if only for a little while and
if only he could stay there.

-Matt