Rattle, Rattle

Sleep over
hunger.
Hunger
over sleep.
I don't believe
in the devil,
but the devil sure
believes in me.

Pill bottle is a rattle,
lulling and lulling,
and I,
with my
childproof hands
wring each fear carefully.

Sleep is only scary
when it ends,
so the bed swallows me
and doesn't spit me out.

I don't believe
in the devil,
but he believes in me.
Hush, hush,
he repeats.
Hush.
And my breath slows
and my eyes close.
Rattle, rattle.