write this, effable and ineffable both

write this

emmer effer

a pretend genius broadsuction

some days are better than none

the message board

I want to sleep

Joey Zimmerman

The only time I don’t remember getting rest is when I pass out from drinking too much or when pills become stronger than closed eyelids, shutting like the red shutters on the dream house I told my mom I’d buy her when my great ideas grow into something strong enough that I can relay on it for support. It’s all in your head. I shut the light off and try to listen to the color black. It’s loud. The moon smiles, and slips his whispering tongue in between the shadows that crawl on my walls and the constant crank this old and beat up ceiling fan…turning…and turing…and turing…and turning and reminding me I’m unemployed, why don’t they like me?

I can’t sleep

When there’s nothing good on tv and nothing good going on in my head, I’m going to lay in my bed and cuddle up with some Ambien. Thirty minutes later, my brain becomes a chamber, locking in all night terrors I don’t feel comfortable talking about with my friends when we get to together and try to decipher the meaning of our dreams. I do not share. I tell them I do not dream. It’s all in your head. I’m in a trance, wake me and shake me because believe me, in my head screaming with lungs opened too wide, stressed and pressed against a bursting rib cage. I want to click my light on, click, but every time I, click, turn it gets tighter and snaps in my hand. Throwing light bulbs at walls, sparking darkness and creating stars in the universe that used to be my room, floating above something that used to be my bed and now it’s just the rest of my dreams that haven’t died yet. It’s all in your head. Excuse me, I must be tired.

I need to sleep

Hello rest, I now call demon. You push me into mares and terrors, I wake up sweating and I’m not scared easily. Odd mother fuckers walk around at 5:30 in the morning. There’s a light on in that window. And from that window he see’s the beginning of sunlight and listens to the first chirps of the loneliest birds. They tell me good morning.

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Joey Zimmerman studies film and writing at the University of Nebraska

writeThis.com, pretendgenius.com, cafehopeless.com and author.