It's morning,
and I'm mourning,
the sleep I lost the night before.
I watch the light,
as it alights,
upon my bedroom floor.
Never do I care,
to take care,
of myself anymore.
I always alter,
what I place on my altar,
and I sleep less, forevermore.
******
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
It's morning,
and I'm mourning,
the sleep I lost the night before.
I watch the light,
as it alights,
upon my bedroom floor.
Never do I care,
to take care,
of myself anymore.
I always alter,
what I place on my altar,
and I sleep less, forevermore.
******
This poem is about insomnia, my inability to sleep, and the reason for that being the fact that I place so many things in higher regards than my own health, my own sleep, and my ability to function as an adult.
I cheated on the third stanza, by using the same word twice, rather than find a homonym or something similar. Meh, it worked.
Request permission to use this poem