Another thought about sleep.

Fish.

Fish sleep.

Only half a brain at a time they say.

But humans know FA about animals.

bee brain

There’s a bee in my head.

I can only speculate as to how he found his way in.

I feel his little footless appendages.

Rummaging around.

Reading vibrations to see deep into the grey custard suspending my thoughts.

I imagine his expressionless face.  

A helmet made of eyes.

Anticipatory.

Hunting, restless. Agitated. Searching.

Moving so jaggedly, so constantly, his body hums a note.

The sound of desperation.

Flowers developed overtime into blooms to drive him wild.

Luscious, vibrant, pungent, velvety specters.

Is it painful, like hunger?

Is it intoxicating like lust?

I pity him.

Constantly occupied. Never satisfied.

His existence is a curse.

too

Anything becomes painful if you have too little or too much.

Fasting and hunger, desire and destruction.

A scratch.

A loving emotion.

Any drug or intoxicant, tonic or medicine.

Too little eye contact.

Too much rain.

Comfort is the feeling of control.

We place ourselves in positions we feel to be just the right measure.

Then.

We get bored.

And tell ourselves it’s sadness.

Woefully we cut ourselves up inside.

Because life with too much comfort and not enough pain is painful too.