Some Days

Some days
I can't sleep.
A hurricane
bubbles up
inside me,
and my thoughts
swirl and churn
until they
are spun dry.
It's a spin cycle
that won't quit
no matter how
hard I try.

Some days
I can't get
enough sleep.
My bed sucks me in
like a Serta Sleeper vacuum.
I'm alone
and free
to sleep sideways
if I want -
and sometimes I do.

And then there are days
where thirty-eight
is too old,
my life is too young
to be this empty,
my heart is too melancholy
to thump one more time.

But it does.
And then it does it again.
Beat, beat, beat
against every word
or feeling
that tells it not to.

And then it does it again.