Chasing Sleep

The mirror pointed out new lines in my forehead and I thought, wow, I really am over thirty. I really do drink too much.

So like any human I did what we always do. I started putting moisturizer on my face. Treating the symptoms instead of the disease.

I thought of McDoofus. How quickly he'd been transformed from young to old. And Scoots. The puff under his eyes that had deceived me. Thinking he was aging when he was really only tired from drinking and fucking too much. Maybe McDoofus was just tired too. I know I am.

I swipe the cold beer bottle across my forehead. To shrink the swell I imagine is there. Especially when I try to write. And am reminded of that sweet cocktail people make when alcohol and saliva are passed between two mouths. All that drug in their kiss intensified.

But the bottle grows warm as I drain the liquid out of its thick skin. And those lines are still there. Burrowing deeper with every sip.

And now I know we grow old because we get tired. But where are we to rest?

Chasing sleep only leaves me exhausted.