Writing is now a bad habit.
Out of my phone I try...
...to pull out a figurative rabbit
But my eyes get dry
As I try and try
To force an idea
And stare and stare
At a screen still bare,
Bereft of a poem's basic ingredient...
...words.
But, when is a good time to write?
Surely not late at night,
When sleep is what I need!
But the habit kicks in,
And I just won't give in
As I dislike sleep
More than counting sheep.
So on goes the blue light filter,
Negating a circadian rhythm
Wildly out of kilter.
Or so I tell myself,
As I go on staring,
Finger hovering,
Over a sickly yellow screen
Depriving me of a pleasant dream.