Insomnia by Scott Thomas Outlar

I stared
at red digits
on the alarm clock
for months,
slowly going crazy
as I tried to fall asleep.
I turned around in the bed,
trying to find respite
down at the foot board.
I read books trying to become drowsy,
but wound up ripping them apart and
smashing them into walls
when the effort proved futile.
I left the red digits behind
as I moved into another empty room
and tried to sleep in the bed there.
My mind kept bending, contorting,
edging out nearer to the abyss.
It must have cracked at some point while
all alone in that house
with no sleep at night for months on end,
only here and there
catching a few winks during daylight hours.
It was a nasty time in my life.
I think I was insane for awhile,
but, being alone, it is difficult to say for sure.
It was an awful experience,
full of sadness, anger, Crown Royal
and suicidal depression.
It was a rock bottom hell pit.
I don’t remember how or when,
but eventually it must have ended.
I think that is basically
how life always happens.

Scott Thomas Outlar survived both the fire and the flood – now he dances in celebration while waiting on the next round of chaos to commence. Otherwise, he keeps things fairly chill, spending the days flowing and fluxing with the tide of the Tao River, laughing at life’s existential problems, and writing prose-fusion poetry dedicated to the Phoenix Generation. His work has appeared recently in venues such as Section 8 Magazine, Dead Snakes, The Chaffey Review, Corner Club Press, Black Mirror Magazine, Dissident Voice, and The Kitchen Poet. Scott’s first attempt at a blog is 17Numa.wordpress.com.