Tragedy of Teenage Insomnia

My skeleton lover lies beneath my bed each night.

Most times, I am blissfully unaware of his presence.

Not every night I am naïve, however-

And tonight I lay here sleepless unable to shake the feeling of him.

He is the emptiness in my chest,

He weighs on me so deeply I cannot be free.

Not of him-

Or my bed.

On these nights he crawls into my bed,

Draws his skeletal hands over my arms,

And his sharp tongue across my back.

He is comforting in a sad way.

The way late night walks and early autumn leaves feel-

A certain melancholy familiarity with a sort of charm.

He plunges his dry tongue through my chest,

bones snapped and my innards rebelling against him in squelching protest.

Screams pierce the air although I don't know if they are mine-

I am disconnected, in a strange way, from my own self.

At last he draws out my bloody heart, its frantic beating now the only sound in the room.

He curls his tongue inward, veins still connected to my deranged body stretching and finally snapping-

Covering my bed and himself in blood.

Finally he places my heart in his mouth, savoring it like a sugar-filled sweet

And devours me.