Have you seen
this man?

he stands at the foot of the bed. every night since march. i don't know which march. he is red the way the inside of your eyelids is red and he SMILES the whole time, he has never once stopped smiling, and he waits for the exact second between awake and asleep — that little gap, you know the gap, everyone knows the gap — and that is his whole address. he lives in the gap. i checked the closet. the closet is fine. the closet has never been the problem.

the doctor says hypnagogic hallucination. the doctor says sleep paralysis, very common, the body wakes before the — sure. sure. the doctor gets to say that because the doctor does not have to fall asleep in MY room. i asked the doctor if a hallucination can move the dresser. she asked who moved the dresser. exactly.

31 teeth tuesday. 32 wednesday. he is SAVING THEM UP

i counted his teeth. you would too, eventually, there is nothing else to do with your eyes. thirty-one on tuesday. thirty-two on wednesday. do not tell me that is a rounding error. do not tell me i miscounted. i am EXCELLENT at counting now. i count everything now. seventy-one ceiling tiles. four streetlights. one of them flickers in a pattern and i am not ready to talk about the pattern.

and here is the thing nobody — every night, sleep just TAKES you. no consent form. no save. the session ends whether you are ready or not and you trust — you just TRUST — that the same person boots up in the morning. i used to think that was fine. i used to think that was fine. he stands at the foot of the bed because that is where you watch a machine you are waiting on.

i printed two hundred of these. poles, laundromat, the good corkboard at the pharmacy. somebody called the number and said one word. they said "stop." i don't know if they meant the flyers.

if you have seen him: you have seen him. you already know. check the gap. count the teeth. and if he smiles wider when you notice him — he will — tell him i'm awake.

tell him i'm always awake.