Capturing a Mood
(Sleepless Nights)

I. Sleepless Nights
The morning light is harsh.
There, within the day, the dreams abound.
Swimming through a fuzzy focus.
Craving pure caffeine.
There used to be a difference in between.
The afternoons are growing short.
Evening comes, he opts for sports
instead of spending any time with you.
The days and nights, for years, have
seemed to blur. Where are you now...?
Within his dreams...? Or only playing
in his mind's extremes...? Your
scattered wits come from his myths
of woman. Opening, the knocking
on the door begins again. You can't
remember where you were before.
Life's casualties begin to bleed
from all your weeping pores. Without
a choice, you live the day before in
an uncounted repetition. Weakly
crying our for something more.
Restlessly, you walk the weary floor.
Trying to remember where you are.
You reach and touch, but everything
feels different. You speak, but no one
seems to hear your words. There
used to be a secret validation in
the silence that you shared.
Where has it gone...? Instead of you,
it walked right out the door. Locked
and chained, the gate is acting strange.
Looking through your tears, it always rains.
A pitter-patter on your endless pain.
Something small was seeking something
endlessly alive. You wonder why you
ever even tried. It just goes on. Night
turning into dawn as you are drawn
into another sleepless night.

II. Sleepless Nights
You wander under covers burning
brightly with desire. The pleasure
turned to ash too long ago. You
roam the halls. Your red robe on.
Where else is left for you to ever go.
The blaming games had come back home.
He left you there, so all alone.
Passing faded photos on the walls.
Smashing them on carpets in the hall.
The night turned colors into black
and white. You smashed the frames
to burn the memories in terror's plight.
It really didnít change a thing. You
scrubbed away the ring your wedding left.
Appointments at the doctors had been set.
But all the pills that they'd prescribed
were making you forget. Smoke another
cigarette. The night is still obscene.
Mislaid, you sought your innocence again.
No longer were the might-have-beens
believed. The inspiration of your worth
had turned into disease. The others left
as soon as they had found a greater ease.
No matter that you'd tried so hard to please.
Long ago, the kitchen turned into an armory.
Sitting at the table as they glared their icy
heat into the plates. They never cared for
anything you felt. It only mattered that
you kept on feeling in their stead. You
slumped onto the table, held your head
as if the weight had grown too great.
Mind spinning while your brain
stayed in one place. Three A.M.,
still not a touch of grace. Another
morning rolled to afternoon. This fear
arose, no matter that it always seemed
insane. Looking toward a sleepless
night again.

III. Sleepless Nights
The wedding bans said meet at ten A.M.
You passed out just before it all began.
Holding back a scream, you walked in,
ghostly white, up to another man. To have
and to hold, but you knew you were owned
after that. From one hand to another, so the
slavery passed on. Contractual, the feeling
and the language of the mass. Papers signed
and sealed, even as you wished they would
just break the deal. Time went on. You
ere the one that paced the floors at night.
Broken down within the morning light.
An endless ever-after fight that had
no end in sight. The anger in his
"I love you" was matched by apathy
that covered fright. Bride for less than
one full day, but still appearing in
the sleepless nights.

IV. Sleepless Nights
The morning light is murky gray.
An orphan cannot find their way back home.
Digitized enlightenment can cause a soul to roam.
Calling out when no one's there to hear.
Focusing the fear on your career.
Taken back into the careless crowd,
where silence shouts the agony aloud.
Brutalized by groupings of your peers.
Insensitive to all you hold most dear.
Christened in the waters of a murky river's run.
Demolished by the demons when they come.
Yesterday remembered in forgotten old sitcoms.
Life feeling like another old rerun.
The characters were chosen long
before the work was born. The tapestries
upon the walls are torn. Crowned antlers
of the beasts that pierce like thorns stare
down at you. Ultimately, sacrifice is due.
Not knowing why it has to be this way.
Love become a dried up fairytale.
Bittersweet, the saxophone will whale
its release into the air. Long ago, we
used to find a way to keep on caring.
All used up. Emotions jammed
into another tract of arid land.
Another sleepless night is now at hand.

V. Sleepless Nights
Holding distance in electric hands.
Sizzled static turned into a brand.
Further hypnotized by all the lies
of which its products have been made.
Mesmerized by light that used to play
as if the dark did not exist. Remembering
the moment of a kiss that seemed too pure
to throw away. Watching garbage dumps
that grow within the light of day. A throw away
society invades the underground of your survival.
Creating modern art where all the meaning
has been tread into a mess. The armies come,
impounding more than flesh. The internet
won't intermesh. Solitary moments are
confined behind closed doors. The loving
doesn't live here anymore.

VI. Sleepless Nights
Where images embark in dark delight.
Your coronary episode became the highlight
of your very rich but paupered life.
Sizzling, the lights go out again.
Candlelight no longer is your friend.
Aroma-therapy is always bludgeoning
your senses. The incense pulls you back
into your death. The width and breadth
have turned into the endless height of depth.
Climbing up the walls that all fall down.
Incinerating yet another clown that used to
bring the swings to life. Enmeshed within
a microfilm's delight. Losing time and space -
becoming distance. Listening, but only hearing
what you wish to hear. That spot upon the wall
has turned into another whale of make-believe.
If only you could learn to see it turning
in the breeze. Chilled out, your cough
has turned into a wheeze. You try to lie
in bed, but cannot breathe. You sit up
straight within a chair that cannot give
you ease. There is no sleep.

VII. Sleepless Nights
Reading magazines by a night-light.
Small sounds echo in the dark.
Suddenly, you're made to start again.
You lost and found the effort to peruse
your new bought pen. The sleep of keyboards
lessens the offense. Computer lines are
moving all your grief back to the other side
of life. The image of a mangled corpse
brings awfully odd respite. The pain
is living in your bones. You can't admit
to growing old. But here, the growth
becomes so real you feel its shape
and form. The satin sheets have
all been torn away. You're mired in
immoral history. The politicians speak
and then you bleed. Creatures grown
in dark desire are fired while their
shadows strike it rich. Lying in a ditch,
they pass you by. Crowds of an
immortal youth that never seem to cry.
No matter how you try, you can't get up.
Lying down, you sup upon another
glass of wine. A sordid empathy keeps
running up and down your spine.
The shadows know, but never tell you so.
The sleepless nights are running close.
You still can't find the host that seems
to live within your mind. The film on
the projector keeps rewinding you into
an other time. When youth belied your
ardent wish to cry yourself to sleep.

VIII. Sleepless Nights
Oh hear our prayer, for all our gods
are deaf and dumb these days.
The dreams we used to dream
remain undone. The fire in the
furnace melted all the plastic traps.
The plumbing was emblazoned on
a worthless treasure map. You feel
like lying down, but have been tortured
by catnaps. The pain involved is
utterly discreet. You are the only one
who feels it nibbling just at the seat
of what you called content. The vents
are leaking poison gas. You wish it all
would come to pass away into the past
on which you pray. A grinding halt
forced on your marshaled thoughts.
The repetition breaking free to seek
another beat. Hammering the headers
you deleted. Making rounds in heated
arguments. Heave-sent, the silence
that arises when you stop to catch
your breath. Emptying the garbage,
scenting death.

IX. Sleepless Nights
Pre-set movements lingering beyond
its shadowed sight. Waiting for the light
of morn, while fearing its next plight.
Walking on. Etched beneath a streetlight
is a form of your familiar nightly runs.
Here shadows hide the vicious tides
that images of guns must still abide.
You creep into the car to take a ride.
Driving into heavy mist, you die another
mini-death. The cartoons aren't
laughing anymore. The corner store
is closed. The windows barred.
Cemented sidewalks lead into
another seedy bar. Whitewashed walls
embellished with a screaming mouth
drawn on in blackened tar. Echoes
of a conversation playing near and far.
It doesn't seem to matter where you are.
As long as you can flash another plastic
credit card for their approval Vandalized,
at last you see the stars for what they are.
Coronas of a quickly fading light.
Darkness nourished by their dire delight.
While underneath the bleachers, lucky
fans are making out. Love denied, they're
peddling their doubt. A substance sold
and bought. They're feeling high until
they're forced to crawl to jail. Living in
the fractured fairytale. Blinded by the lighting.
Hiding underneath the bed. Responding
to the roll-call of the dead. Each thought
producing demons that keep playing in
your head. Never grasped, they're
grasping you instead. Whirling within
the demon's den.

X. Sleepless Nights
A soundtrack that repeats the awful sights
of endless days. Sensations that are always
underplayed. The doctors and the nurses
blend into the midnight air. Another shift
is leading you back to the life you used to
think you lived. The monitors are changing
all the scenes you used to view in memory.
Blipping lights. A harsh twilight.
A sleeping pill to keep you under covers
in the night. You roam the crowded halls.
You feel too full of all their fright.
Intravenous feeding brings the spite.
You couldn't even starve yourself to death.
Perhaps the faded meaning comes to mesh
within their brain. Their chemistry is built
on old remains. Cadavers in refrigerated
boxes find walking on a deadened platitude.
Quite suddenly, you wish that it would rain.
Lightning flashes fill your mind. Reminding
you to move along again. The morning after
never was your friend.

XI. Sleepless Nights
Crutches leaning close against a wall.
Waiting for another urge to fall into
your aching, hairless pits. Drinking
sweetened satin cream while swallowing
the grit. Slowing down to ease the pain.
Grunting to a new refrain. The outer
turned to inner once again. Empty old
appointment books that rust within
the reign of someone else. Feeding
bread to birds gone blind. Flying off to
far behind. Stasis melting time and space
into another way. If only you could pray
and know your prayers had been heard.
Consistency is banned but still alive
within the herd. While understanding
moves into another play on words.
In repetitious slogans that seep
under consciousness. Implanted in
their endless mesh of antique, altered
bliss. A kiss upon the cheek turned to
betrayal. An apple that brought knowledge
to the failed garden's lore. Angels lashing
out with burning swords. The goodness
doesn't live here anymore. Empty shells
once filled too full are walking down
the street. The upper class despise
the meek as weak. Working endless hours
while you sleep upon your feet. Close the
doors, but nothing seems complete.
The energy is gone. You can't start over
anymore. A pallid image reaches through
your mirror. Whispering of secrets once
held dear. Pointing out the strangeness
of the changes that live on without you there.
Collapsing in the corner as it stares into
the truth you never lived. Acting out until
the give had suddenly been taken. Wondering
if nightmares ever waken. Taking yet another
purple pill. Still feeling ill. The hospitals
create such great dis-ease. Sinking in
posthumous ease while postulating
undetermined deeds. A flash of light
that genuflects and suffers of their greed.
While seeds of beauty, never grown, are
needed to appease another image on
the throne. Power plays that sometimes
(soon or late) must come unplugged.
Reaching for intensity with drugs.
Legalized insanity to keep the slaves
in line. The normal in the numbness
leaves them blind. While there, behind
the blinds, two lovers sell another tale
of sublime. Then count their worth in
nickel bags instead of penny-antes.
Wondering why everything remains
the same through all the awful change.

XII. Sleepless Nights
Lights burning bright in all-night
market stands. Progeny demanding
nothing less than everything.
A golden ring encircling a future
never deemed to be their own.
Structured boxes forced into a mold;
that's all they know of any home.
Such great expanses covered over
by a super dome. Feeling as if all
of life were cloned. Searching for
a safety never found. Growing up
means growing old and so their efforts
become bold while meaningless prevails.
Rushing to another super sale. Where
plastic cards are melting with the numbers
left to swelter in the heat of a desire still
unknown. Strangers walk together, all alone.
Lost within a coupling that never touches soul.
Gathering mere pieces of the whole.
Particles disintegrating, falling through
black holes that leave you nowhere else
to go. Cycles of indebtedness that only
seem to grow. Washed and waxed,
the rust is glittering. Waning with a
sunset shimmering. Showering the asphalt
with its grease. Clinging to an everlasting
base that ends too soon. Cluttering the
borders of their rooms. A steering column,
now detached. A rusty truckbed carrying
the trash. A bright and shiny era quickly
passed unto another generation. Mindgames
setting querulous equations in persuasion of
the hope of flying free. Invisible, the last
of their equality is etched across the sky.
Unveiling the disappointing prize.
Runways fleeing far away. The place
is set for children's play. Dressed up
like adults to prey upon the unsuspecting
dividends. Clockwork glowing orange
with all the nightlights burning out. They
scream and shout of wares that hold
no worth. Sickening the earth with that
great goodness of their need. And behind
the mirror, reflections move - unseen.
Insanity becomes the greatest mean of
their release. The fertile egg is harvested
for love of petrie dishes. Living on within
refracted light. Watching colors burning
brightly in the neon signs. Seeking to
absorb it in their minds. While darkness
grows into their cells again. These
sleepless nights will never have an end.

XIII. Sleepless Nights
Letting go, the mold refuses to envelope you.
The teachers never taught you what to do
with all the feelings that you feel. They acted
as if feelings weren't real. Feeding on the dross
of growing, gross reality. No magic sparks
in dark imaginations. The food stamps have
been rationed to some other needy soul.
The experts are afraid to say they really
just don't know, but are predicting that
there's nowhere left to go to make it better.
Rushing round and circling their great
illusive goals. Shadow dancing at the
picture shows. As if the seeing ever really
made it real. A peal of iron laughter disappears
within the gears that move them on. The ripples
on the pond decided long ago to catch
another swell. Waves breaking o'er the
buildings where ancestors used to dwell.
Imprisoned in a bright new old age home.
Cast aside and thrown away. Spitting on
the wisdom in the withering of age. Stamping
out rain forests as they build another stage.
Choosing yet again to dare it not. A plot
within the cemetery bares their name
in triplicate. Triangular, the deity abstains.

XIV. Sleepless Nights
The cornerstone was lost within the quarter moon
that wouldn't shine them on. Minds spinning into
overtime. What's yours is mine - the fleeing thieves
still claim. Giving themselves convoluted names.
Titles purchased. Deeds undone. Last wills were
testaments to furthering their travesty. Torn up
and thrown away. It never mattered anyway.
The copyright was turning all the bones
within the graveyard into saints. Studying the
mummified remains of ancient crypts. Include
the wrappings in the current script. Follow the
instructions written by the skeleton's hand. Walk
silently into another land. Tread lightly on the
particles of sand. Noticing the reddish tinge.
Drink of blood that long ago seeped down
beneath your sight. Discover that not everything
is bright or right or even very good. Basking in
the wrongness of an ever-righteous zeal.
Do it just because you wanted to.
Watch the edges of the shrine congeal.
With open eyes, the sleep becomes too deep.
Memorized, the images leap boldly into air.
You sit and stare. The walls have come alive.
This must be the day that you will die.
Walking through another sleepless night.

XIV. Sleepless Nights
You're finished, burned right through
the network dish. Your sleepless nights
no longer turn to bliss. The innovations
died last year. They stumbled into all
your awful fear. When hope became a
hapless moving on. And sleep commanded
dreams to lie back down. When you were
drawn into a system of beliefs that wouldn't
let you be yourself. High upon a shelf within
the vault. The hidden visions never quite
let out. Raging in your infamy of cells that
never could believe the cast. Wandering
within a vast unknown. Speaking lines in
automated phones. Droning on and on about
which button should be pushed. Friday came.
You hadn't done the wash. As if it mattered
what you wore. You bought it long ago in a
dime store. Your jewelry's composed of
tin and glass. Remembering that newness
never lasts. You keep never-used appliances
that seek another blast of energy. Burned out
by the latest symphony. Turned on by the
lack of strategy. Until the lights went out
again. It hadn't even rained. Your terror
bore another terrorist into a name.
Chaos structured into your refrain.
Burning in the microwave that melted
in the flames. Returning once again
to that great circle of their blame.
The buck stopped here. The doe
still wasn't home from work. He never
did move on. His antlers held the secrets
of his charm. Stuffed and mounted.
Hung on high. The beauty had been
sacrificed again. It grew from very long
remembered whens that passed you by
before they dried. Your parents are
incarcerated in the family tomb. Shrinking
to make sure they leave you room to lie
your weary head beside their rotting skulls.
You used to fly the friendly skies in beasts
that ate those white seagulls. Coming down.
Surprised to find your worth was left on high.
With winds that blew in everlasting skies
of molten colors in reflection. Lungs infected
by the abreaction time conceived. The minds
of men were stuck within an endless fantasy.
Playing in a park that seldom closed. The
Adam's and the Eve's all felt secure. Until
their right of passage had expired and pushed
their endless youth into the raging fire. While
from the ashes, murky shades of blue flew
out of sight. Walking in the chasm of another
sleepless night. Too much was left unsaid.
You crawled back into bed. And closed your
eyes into the dark again.

XVI. Sleepless Nights
Reliving moments you could never keep alive.
It made the hours fly by without the pain.
The Monday morning train was overbooked.
You read a book and fell into the looking glass again.
Blindly seeking destinies of unknown origin.
Remembering a love that never happened.
Scraped and scratched by briars never grown.
Metallic voices turned into a drone.
Suffering the lack of any individual priority,
you learned to cling. A parasite of ordinary
things. See the old love letter crumble into
yellowed dust. The photographs must follow
while your trust is all betrayed. You lived into
a future that could only hold your grave.
Markings chipped too deeply into stone.
Your spirit wavered there, too all alone.
Graveyard silence reaching deep within.
Grasping for the motion as your head began
to spin the other way. Unwinding all
the difficulties played. You never knew
just why, but chose to stay. They called it
keeping one foot in the grave. Following
the crowd. Lagging behind. Then hiding
just inside the ever whitewashed window blinds.
Escorted by an other to the prison that
continues to abide. It took its hold upon
your living mind. In telepathic imagery,
it turned into another wild emotion.
But upkeep on the quotient wore you down.
Living in a murky underground.
The aftertaste of passion left you
choking on the morning after sounds.

Capturing a mood - it came undone...


Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .