Plagiarizing Sleep

There is a part of me that wants to splash
Someone else's thoughts
Across
         The
               Page.
My will is lacking the iron to
Carve quality from chunks of
Mediocrity.

Mostly it's just rust and metal slivers.

Perhaps I sleep so poorly
Because my dream self remembers
Sleeping as a newborn
Eyes
       Shut
               Asleep

And sleeping well now would be plagiarism.

Paint

Brittle boneyard of my soul.

Bleached and quiet.

Full of vacated moments.

I alone have time to examine
our
bruises.
Yesterdays clouts painted on my arm
forced into now with a touch.
Time-travel violence.

I write to keep the fear outside.
My pen locks the door,
the paper
hides the key.
I sing the way I hurt inside.
Bruises of dark cursive on your ears.