Trial of Wellness

Sleep, a memory far gone.

Days crawl the length of my Instagram 

feed me

a Netflix queue to swallow voluminous minutes

with a metronomic flick of 

the thumb,

I stare and want until

my envy of rest

blurs my days into

one.

I sink under sequin sheets,

made sweet and putrid by

five seasons of Schitt’s Creek and 

an endless Facebook timeline.

If I could climb my way down to the

bottom of the

feed

maybe I could begin

again

make my life as joyous

as the filtered pictures.

Here comes the abdomen’s metamorphosis

the butterflies become

bees

capricious stingers at the ready.

To leave this bed could be a

barbed free fall.

Best to stay

safe.

Try to

sleep.

A paradox of want so deep,

the eyes redden even further.

Finally, the panic chases me

all the way to the purchase

of a plane ticket

home.

I hastily pack my suitcases,

I wait for a Lyft to LAX,

teeter over the edge

of a cliff,

ravine as wide as the coasts,

separating me

and the potential

for recovery.

I call my dad to give

me one last

push.