Insomnia
poem
Insomnia Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn like a man drowning beneath a waterfall. Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse the clock. It's only 3 a.m. Your eyes burn. Asleep, other people fly. Awake, you crawl. Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn like a wind turbine, electric, killing birds instead of counting sheep. Your soul caterwauls. Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse before you even look at the clock. You've learned how the night works. 3 a.m. is your default. Some nights, you just don't sleep. In your bed, you churn like a cauldron filled with poison frog and fern. If sleep is flesh then you're a starved cannibal. Some nights, you do fall asleep then wake and curse everyone who slumbers—the ones who fall first and wake last. Gift them only your spite and gall. Some nights, you can't sleep. You churn and churn like Hell. Some nights, you wake at 3 a.m. and curse yourself.


Some nights you wake at 3 AM and write a killer poem.
Had two of those, just this week.