A cooling fan whirs,
On my weary laptop,
Sat on my lap as I rock,
In the rocking chair.
I'm frantically typing,
Frantically writing,
With anger and passion,
While all others sleep.
I switch on the light,
With the light switch,
And stretch out my arms,
And close my eyes.
I block out the light,
I just created,
And whisper a gentle prayer,
To the God I know.
I tell God I'm scared,
Of scary things,
And I'm hurt,
By painful things.
I tell God I cry,
When I feel sad,
Because people are cruel,
And say I'm sick.
I tell God all these things,
That they already know,
But I know they're important,
So I keep talking.
I talk about people,
And things that are wrong,
And whether I'm one,
Of those people who are wrong.
And then I look at the time,
And my thoughts are all gone,
Because I suddenly feel so tired,
Because I need to sleep.
So I stop rocking,
In that rocking chair,
And take the laptop,
Off my lap,
I turn off the light switch,
To switch the lights off,
And I leave the room,
Close the door,
Go upstairs,
And sleep.