Sleep-writing…(a poem)

Happy February,

It’s been a busy week, but I have to admit I’ve not done anything interesting enough to grace these pages, so I’ve kept quiet.

I did go to a sparkly ball on Saturday, however, and wore this dress:

ASOS, £35.00

and these gloves:

John Lewis, £12.00

and I felt fantastic. It was an amazing night overall, and not one I will forget in a hurry. I could complain about one part of it that I felt was very unfair, but if I did you would all just tell me I’m being selfish, so I won’t. Let’s just say it was memorable in a bitter-sweet kind of way.

The day after, I was… well, somewhat woozy. After a day of recovering by mooching around feeling sleepy, my eyes were stinging and heavy and about midnight I gave in and went to bed. As I was falling into a deep sleep, I thought of a line I wanted to use for a poem, so I remember grabbing the notepad I keep by my bed for just such emergencies and scribbling down the line. I don’t remember anything after that.

This morning, I was tidying and came across the notepad. There is a full poem written there, (along with the line I scribbled down), a poem that I have no recollection of writing but seems familiar. I must have written it in my slumberous stupor, and as sleep-poems go I thought it was alright (interesting at least) so I’ve decided to share it:


You take a piece and pass it on
Drink your hope and swallow
Be the game but don’t know the rules
Carve me til I’m hollow.
Yesterday’s rush, today’s regret,
and no one to blame but yourself
for not blaming him.

Search fruitlessly in others’ words
for signs of told-you-so’s.
A wry smile can flicker the ‘can it be?’
into darkness like a moth igniting on a weakly bulb.

Try not to think of maybes or
remember when – the rise has peaked now,
the hands are numb from too much in the cold.
Nothing, nothing at all to show for it.


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