Moths by Lorna Burchell

I can’t sleep

there is a light behind my eyes

a naked bulb

I can’t switch off,

my thoughts are drawn to it

like moths.

I fumble for the switch

it’s not there

the whirling and bashing goes on;

a smell like singed hair

it’s painful to watch,

but I can’t look away.

I want to drift into the dark,

slide into sleep.

Like me, those thoughts

must need

release, relief and peace,

but they are snared.

They should be dreams by now:

light-winged and delicate

drifting through my mind

like powdered air, but there is a light behind my eyes

and I am transfixed by its glare,

so I can’t sleep. I just can’t sleep.