Keeping late nights,
Trying to find sleep on my own
Tossing from one end of the bed to the other,
Eyes as dry as that of an owl.
Not a trouble, not a worry,
Up because of a muse within
Pressing me up and wanting to spill,
Hence shaking every bit of me.
As I keep glancing at my table in the corner,
I see my sheets anxiously calling.
My pens jingle and smile at me,
Anxiously waiting to pen the feeling down.
Can't find rest until I cooperate.
The consequence when I refuse writing
It keeps me awake and seizes my peace,
Till I write it out, then can I sleep.