This one goes out to the insomniacs. Here are some words for the nights that feel longer than the days, for those who’d rather not say how they’re feeling anymore because they’ve heard all the advice before.

Slug Fest

My eyes burn as I wait for the clock to announce the fighter.
I have eight rounds to prove I’m the winner as well as loser.
Nine p.m.—I put in my mouth guard and then wave to the crowd.
I climb back in the ring thirty-eight inches by seventy-five.
I will go the distance. I always find a way to survive,
rolling right, ducking left, with the punches that toss me awake
or that turn me around but refuse to ever knock me out.
A hook rattles my skull just before the ref calls a timeout.
Time to wipe the oil off my face as my thoughts start to race.
I see stars in the darkness but still have to keep these plans straight.
I forfeit the next round to take something off tomorrow’s plate.
Now the end is in sight, but it’s looking the same as last night,
a slug fest on the springs where the only one swinging is me.
I’m dying, but it’s alright, as long as I reach morning’s light.
Two more rounds, and I’m free to go toe to toe with reality.
 
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