Freddy Krueger is without a doubt the scariest 1980’s horror villain
To think you might fight for your basic needs and that’s where the danger lies
when you’re most vulnerable, most fatigued,
your subconscious replaying and reprocessing
suturing the wounds of your vast schema‌
I tell myself that insomnia is a gift
It protects me from such Boogiemen
and slows time down to something bite-size,
but my legs are restless, my body tossing and turning,
and time is taunting from the vacant glow of a digital clock‌
I’m noticing for the first time that you can inadvertently memorize
white noise albums if the tracks replay enough
You can accidentally on purpose know the thunder of your storm
and predict the lightning crashes as you wait for rainbows
and squiggly confetti to cross the back of your eyelids
Sensory self-awareness is brutal like that,
the way a familiarity can feel like a focus or
the way the unknown feels like a quest you have to fulfill‌
There is no sensory rest, not awake, not asleep,
nor in the travel between celestial sheets
Freddy understands how many ways we say: Rest Without Peace
It’s called being alive,
and the nightmare is relentless