I’ve got this itch in my brain that I can’t scratch and nothing does the trick. Not a headbutt against a wall that sets off my neighbor’s dog. Not the ice cold water flying down my throat. Nope. Not Marvin’s voice singing like a drop of honey in tea or the text my mom sent me, serendipitously, lovingly, during that crying spell that’d been waiting to ambush me since the night before.

Ask me on the wrong day at the wrong time and, yes, I’ll tell you there’s something that does the trick. Maybe the first hot splash of coffee. Chocolate. Floral. Or the way my body hurts so good as I fly across town on my own two feet. Or a lustful breath on my neck. Her bed on a dark morning. The way her scent lingers in my head and I never feel alone.

But a joker’s sleep waits for me every night and every night as I fall dead into the dark he peels back the curtain in my head and shows me it’s all just a trick.