I am awake.
Hoping for a ‘should-be-asleep’ stroke of genius.
Hoping for a means to kill something within me, in Apple Notes
For a man so near the peace of sleep, I am full of vitriol.
For a man so near a sweetly sleeping spouse, I am full of loneliness.
Without the comfort of consummation,
I cannot help but feel a piece of matrimony is missing.
Although you share not the sentiment.
Sans the succor of seduction,
I cannot help but feel derelict and displeasing to you.
Although you would deny the sentiment.
We’re nearly six months into the rest of our lives.
And no amount of peer mediation or anxiolytic medication is enough to convince me
that you weren’t tired of this before it even started.
Plus my allergies are acting up.
Keeping me awake.