Insomnia

When I was eight I couldn't sleep
Because Bloody Mary lived in my mirror.
The pallid ghost with bloodshot eyes and stringy hair
Who claws your eyes out if you say her name.
Bloody Mary still lives in my mirror
But she goes by a different name:
Insomnia.

11 p.m.
I am fully alert and wired
Two halves of my brain are engaged in a battle of epic proportions
One half tells me I should sleep
I have school tomorrow.
The other half counters that I have poems to write and pictures to draw
And if I don't release them from my mind,
They will be forever caged.
I don't even know which half of my brain I am rooting for.

Midnight
Pitch black room
I lie, motionless, under mountains of blankets
But my energy cannot be contained.
The clock ticks
My brain jumps.

1 a.m.
This is when I stand in front of the mirror and pick at my hair
Wishing my bone-straight locks were curly
And knowing full well that if my hair was curly
I'd wish it were straight.
I give up on my reflection, because
Nobody looks their best at 1 a.m.

1:30 a.m.
I decide to check my e-mail.
Instead I wake up fifteen minutes later
With my face embedded in the keyboard.

2 a.m.
I finally swallow my little white pill
Digesting sleep in a capsule.
Tomorrow morning my hair will be stringy and my eyes will be red
And I'll gouge out the eyes of anyone who says my name.
Thus, I become Bloody Mary all over again.