I could never fall asleep
with a book on my chest.
I have a hard enough time turning off my senses

the crack of light beneath my door
my roommate’s muddled voice on the phone
the ever present dread of dying alone

without the dry, brittle pages rubbing
against my flaking tattoos.

I will awake at 6 and 7, 8
8:30 and 9:15 and 9:25
before my alarm sounds at 9:28.

I will glide through a day, hazily
with people talking at me, past me
my eyes unfocused, half open, gray.

I will speak my mind
and people will laugh,
because no one would mean such terrible things.

I won’t show my teeth to anyone.

I’ll go home.

On my bed, I’ll wade through another chapter
but my vision will blur
and I’ll give up.
I will try to sleep,

unsuccessfully.