I haven’t been sleeping, really

Cracking the curtains, I stared up at the ceiling. It was smooth and gray, amorphous almost in the shifting light. Outside a dull sunrise turned the yellow glow of the streetlights pale. I wrung my hands. In the living room my forgotten tea steeped too much and went cold. The sounds of the streets filtered through my listless thoughts: rats fighting in trashcans, distant car horns, sirens from the ambulances leaving from the hospital down the street. Occasionally someone would walk by, half muttering, spitting and hissing mantras to themselves. It was all this, even the streets sounded angry. My brain was buzzing, heart beat wildly. Cold sweat, was it the open window? I over analyzed words in my head, dissected them until they sounded weird, foreign. I eviscerated my vocabulary until English sounded like Aramaic, French faded into sounds of syllables, mere phonics. I was warping, feeling dissolute, weary, miffed, confused. The contours of my body were making imprints on the loud mattress and I held onto the edge of my blanket like a boy afraid of the dark. But I am afraid of the daylight.