My mind is a light with no off-switch.
On nights like these it leaves my body
and hovers like a ghost at the end of my bed,
kneading my sheets with restless knuckles
and staring at me in anticipation.
I want to tell it to calm down, to stop pacing,
to quit twiddling its thumbs and scratching at the door –
I’m trying to sleep here
but sleep, like an agitated cat,
and when it does,
only nudges my fingers
before darting again into the shadows.
My head is a heartbeat under the floorboards.
I grow familiar with the noise
but like Poe, am driven mad
by the drumming sounds of my own