Illustration by Zachary Molino

Enjoyment of my days, plague of my nights.

2:25 AM, I am on a cloud

drifting int—small bump in the night

crinkle, crinkle

A flash of light; my mind is starting to wake

crinkle, crinkle

I’m sure most nights I would’ve been fast asleep by now

crinkle, crinkle

but tonight it’s the crinkle, that incessant crinkle

a plastic bag spelling the end of my sweet, sweet sleep

my mind, now wide awake, wanders back to a few nights ago

2:30 am, similar sleep, enter Zach

I can’t smell the weed, but I can feel its vibes

crossing the room from time to time in the form of little chuckles

sitcom plays, at least I think, as there is a studio laugh every few seconds

3:00 am, Zach is asleep now, but his music still keeps me awake

the bass drops, so do my hopes

I move to the common room, but find sleep even more elusive there

I re-enter, taking the phone from Zach’s hands and pressing the volume keys

“Sean?” you say in your sleep, likely with the fear that I am trying to kill you

My countless night terrors at the front of your mind

I laugh and crawl back into bed,

Not tonight, sweet prince

4 am, peace at last

alas, this is not what happens tonight

I am roused from my reverie by another

crinkle, crinkle

however, this one’s different

soon after

crunch, crunch

the crunches slow and quiet

Oh, how careful and considerate Zach thinks he is being, but it is too late for that now

the crinkles of the bag were too much

my mind hangs on to every faint crunch

3:00 am, Zach sleeps now

my mind is, for once, staying up of its own accord, writing this

which I did not plan in poem form

but which I now find fitting stylistically

inspiration coming from my desperation

3:15 am, another hour of sleep lost

no more crinkles, no more crunch

sleep zooming towards me

like an oh so welcome punch