There are 273 bricks in the wall
opposite my bed.
I know this because I have counted
each and every one,
every night,
for the last 15 days.
The bricks are sheep.
Sheep that stand trapped in wooden boxes,
screaming.
But I cannot let them out.
The first time I heard them scream
I could do nothing other than lie,
paralysed,
in bed.
On the third night I whispered
breath-soaked pleas for silence
from beneath my pillow.
By the ninth night my fingers tore
at the wooden boxes,
nails fraying and peeling,
skin grating until the wood stained red
and my cries rivalled those of
the sheep.
Now on the fifthteenth day
their hoarse bleats fade rhythmically
in and out,
coming and going like a tide.
Pulsating waves wash over me
as I feel the smoothness of silk
against my cheek.
I close my eyes,
the melodic musings of the
world beyond my open window growing distant,
and now I am underwater.
And now I am sinking.
Danielle Gerrish
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-night-i-finally-slept/
