I wake up exhausted

and it isn't because I wouldn't go to sleep last night.
not because I didn't try.
unlike so many nights before, sitting idly awake,
intentionally inducing insomnia.
a luxury lost.
no, this night, without benadryl's convincing whispers,
only the persistent chatter of three irresistible refills
of sweet tea seeping through my system, I lie placidly awake.
as pillows, my comforting friends,
rebel in a series of awkward neck contortions.
and Im left examining shadows and street lights,
the pictures on my wall. photos of a
young mother, passed pets and ages. caleb's letter.
squeezing eyes shut as familiar lyrics run through headphones,
into my ears, and between the threads of my thoughts.
each voice narrating my worries and irritations;
my should'ves and to-do's.
each song the soundtrack to my wandering.
as the faces from my day, fictional and intimate,
play out in my mind like a badly directed play.
an underfunded film.
and I wake up exhausted.