Last Night in the Fifth Circle of Hell

You, innocent 

I, raging 

You, sleepless 

I, imploding 

You, awake two hours into the night—

a bad omen. 

I, stomping recklessly around the mines 

in my mind demanding answers. 

You, lost when for a few seconds I don’t respond 

I, finding answers. Answers: blame, 

a choice too late at night, not enough food, not enough poop, me, him, you, 

not you. 

You, scapegoat without the words to defend yourself. Accused 

of being unpredictable by the hypocritical. 

I, pleading for mercy yet swimming deeper into the fifth ring of hell as if 

you could not drag me out. I— 

You, pure. Pure light, pure need. Incomprehensible. 

I, screaming. Does it ever end. Do you ever sleep. How many times 

will I lay down just to stand up again. Is God on my side. 

You, down again when I least expect it. 

I, pacing the courtroom, facing the jury. Of these thoughts and feelings, what is just and what is sin? They deliberate with a game of cup pong. Cups labelled right and wrong. 

You, repetitive, known. 

Your stirs and cries tick on. 

I, sleeping. Not sleeping. Sleeping. 

When the not sleeping becomes waking, who is there inside me 

to take up the helm? 

Some raw, pink thing emerges: 

innocent, 

sleepless, 

lost.