Sleep Regression

oh, man, I'm so afraid, I'm so goddamn afraid and I know nothing, absolutely nothing, and I don't know how to do anything, and I'm tired of it all, I'm tired of hearing it all, tired of hearing my own voice, these same damn thoughts rolling around like television static through my brain as the day turns to night with its stars, with its precious little stars and that moon, that goddamn moon telling me it's all over it's already over and it's only you that's allowed and denied and lusted and wanted but still not enough, never enough, and now this little boy, goddamn it, this sweet little boy, but then that voice, that innocent little voice now like terror itself like the rage of the whole world combined, like waking up to an armed mob screaming your name outside your window as you're engulfed in fire in flames that lick and boil your brain and you wanna tear your ears off or pull your scalp away from your skull and you swear to God you could, you really could, you could do that and you could even get your fingers inside there somehow and pop it all open, break it all apart and expose your brains to the cold world all steaming with that gooey wetness if only that could put and end to it or just stop it long enough so that you could breathe again so you could maybe think again but it won't, it will never stop, it can't be stopped, so you do what you always do, you turn away to your wall to your cold hard wall and try to protect yourself from elbows and little fists and of course those feet down there kicking all over the goddamn place like a mean ass fish that's landed in the boat... Hey, yeah, we're good, we're good! We've actually been talking about having another.