Subconscious (Rewrite)

A dull roar licks my temples.
It collides like heavy drum beats,
splattering my ear canals,
dripping in and sticking like honey.
Inside I am restless –
my subconscious and I at war,
an endless campaign
I cannot win.

If we were friends,
then he is a drunk phone call in the early hours,
keeping me awake.
He is run-on sentences of  discarded thought,
pausing long enough just for the alarm to scream.

At the end, I find myself awake, sleepless
perhaps lonely.

Only then does he stop to breathe.