Always unable to sleep
Always unable to sleep
I stir Luke-warm caffeine in soup cup styrofoam hope
                              (It will catch up to me)
I sit awake like a secret in the only open corner
      Eyes wide & thoughts crawling
- I'm a midnight spider-
I make my words my web
     Each line I pull from my *** is filled with ambition and placed perfectly
               Looking
                                 "OH,
                                   SO
                           PRETTY" - These pages,
           my trap for future figures flying    
           around my mind
These pages, patiently sitting. Never tearing.
I wait upon them sitting still & listening to every weak sound, looking around through a million beady type eyes made of metaphors, analogies, intricate vocabulary and word placement profoundly used yet not ordinary to what is customary
      Lingering and waiting to prey upon     clever word play
(When caught(( I never play)) I suffocate)
Dress up and bleed out every last ounce of imagination for my souls completion- for the moment though only will this image stick to my lips as I whisp around my hardcover skeleton that once was life
&
I lick my fangs with congratulations
Leaving my mummified creativity for all other
                        f
                   LY
                         in
                               g thoughts to see
Quickly- flipping over a page and mending my web I wonder what pretty alien "life-type-anythings" may wander near
    SOMETIMES I WAIT DAYS ASLEEP FOR NIGHTS TO EAT
Tired&Starving at times-I expand my mind reading. Web-weaving and weaving expansion of web released sheets trying to create strength for when hollow winds howl and push big trophy sounds of that "FFFF-TTTTT-PPPttttt" quick flip from front to back paperback self published win of wings flapping past....
-Never Caught-
This mirage without sleep will puncture this white dream catcher just to lavishly sit next to me in the white light on the wall (taunting) for me see

Too tired at times to recreate or even crumple the page- maybe erase or start a new with a different pace
Or idea of mental entrapment in place
  
I look at my little caskets and creep back to the corner I came from and rest awaiting a new moon to break away
I lay knowing as I grow (to most) I am/and/or could be such a self righteous epitome of poetic fear
          Tucked in my corner
I lay awake
But die in my sleep
A hollow shell on the heap of
Dusty
Dead
Nothing.

Creativity created by my grandeur labor of love this poetic insomnia has left me to lie next to unoriginal thoughts I myself made mummies.
-it must be irony that has killed me-
It will be spring cleaning soon and will broom my body down and out only to make vacancy for another goosebumps giving creep to replace me