Insomniac’s
Log: Day Three
Sunday,
January 28th, 2024
My Dear
Suki,
There is
no time, no space, only the here and now.
I
already got the day off work tomorrow due to my lack of sleep.
The
curtains are billowing breezy shapes. Yet they are also, at the same time,
perfectly still.
The neon
sign out back adds new dimensions to itself.
I recoil
from the window, spinning out of my mind.
Did I
take something? I don’t think I did…
In the
living room, I visit my cats, let them curl up around me. They turn into snakes and start to writhe uncontrollably.
Breaking
free from their coils, I stumble back to the bedroom. It feels safer there, even with the
silhouetted puppet curtains, shadows still moving.
After
laying down for a while, sleep finds me.
Hours
later, there are no more shadows.
The cats
outside the bedroom door are still felines.
I feed
them. Light a candle. Thank the higher powers that be for calming
my glitching mind.
Sam Strathman (he/him) is a writer, poet, visual artist, and author. Some of his work has appeared in Ghost City Review, The Quilliad, Steel Incisors, and other publications. His debut poetry collection, Omnishambles, was published by Ice Floe Press (2023). He is currently living on the traditional land of the Anishinaabe people.