I tried to sleep — I really did — I fluffed the quilt just so,
Turned off the lamp, ignored the clock, and breathed in nice and slow.
But somewhere in the garden hedge, a mouse began to squeak,
And something rustled in the bin — it’s happened twice this week.

The wind tapped gently at the pane, then whooshed across the roof,
My slippers shuffled on their own — or else I’ve come unloose.
I watched a box-set, just one ep… and then perhaps one more,
Until the plot went fully mad — they’re ghosts, I think? What for?

The birds began their morning song while I was wide awake,
I’d barely slept, yet there they were — all chirrup, trill, and shake.
I made some toast, too tired to chew, then wandered back to bed,
Where thoughts of things I haven’t done kept bouncing round my head.

They say the night is quiet time — a balm for busy minds,
But mine prefers the murmurs that the silence always finds.
The creaks, the clicks, the whispers of a house that won’t behave,
Still keeping time with memories I never tried to save.

• Sleep Is A Myth Invented By Pillows by Jay Rose Ana