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Jay D Sep 2010
Take up the insomniac’s burden
So sleepless and yet not tired,
Look not up to your bed.
For there is nothing more we desire.
We live in simple contradiction,
At day, the city hums it’s lullabies
But here we are. Awake,
Forced to endure those sleeper’s sullen cries.

Take up the insomniac’s burden
To never feel again,
The patience in that persons eye
And you thought there’d never be an end.
They wonder why we don’t sleep
You see..us insomniacs are all the same
In some way there’s no getting over
The hurricane after the rain.

Take up the insomniac’s burden
A war of raging peace
Still awake, our soft hearts breathe irregularly.
It’s frustrating. To say the least.
To know that you won’t be the same
At least not anytime soon
To know that person’s gone forever
And all she left for me? The moon.

Take up the insomniac’s burden
We live just night by night
Some of us..nothing but ****** romantics
We’re just attack dogs without their bites.
We sit and over think our plans
Plotting on how to set them in motion.
So go tell the city’s lovers we’re on our way
To assassinate. Their emotion.
Tell me I'm not this. The blue began to flood
inside a room once painted black. Tell me I don't
see this. The orb of morning peering its start right to
my eyelids that can't even close. Tell me I don't hear
this. Birds chirping for sunrise, playing lightly as my
lullaby. Tell me I'm dreaming. My leg still twitches,
seven in the morning, because I'm afraid I'll lose myself
before dawn. Shedding emotion in fast waves of flight,
tell me I didn't run through time, making stars out
of daylight. Orange in the sky, and not from shy
headlights in insomniac cars. Yellow, making its fellow
opening for my uncomforted sleep, not a nightlight like before,
no. Tell me I'm not this.
All feedback is welcome
sleeplessnxghts Dec 2013
That nefarious disorder that usurps my sleep every night holds the anchors above my head
And once the looming presence creates an unyielding uncomfortable feeling within me-
The anchors are dropped at once as I clutch my heart and watch my life flash by in intense but short clips reflecting off of my irises
Drowning in a waking nightmare consisting of life-altering decisions yet to be made and a ubiquitous, haunting past that never fails to ascertain me, despite the innumerable heat runs I've taken to escape it's chokehold
Wistful versus Wishful thinking keeps an insomniac busy at night- contemplating the universe's unhealthy obsession with showering sullen loads upon my already feeble stature and yearning for a change to form like how the leaves just fled the trees they were accustomed to for so long
Ruminative habits that not even the toughest of diamonds could scratch to erase them from my routine nightly thinking
But I am constantly torn between resenting every constant and vowel meant for you and all of my feckless attempts at achieving perfection
And optimistically hoping for a banishment from all negativity, and acceptance of the elation spreading faster through the airwaves of people open to recognition and reversal
But my anchors are breaking through the floor boards as my weary but restless eyes scan the page for errors and I am cautious in giving them a tug out of fear of a perpetual fall that insists on torturing me through an insomnia-flavored death-to-be
What is to ensue after countless hours of wistful and wishful thinking?
Am I to write until the moisture leaves my fingertips and the blood rushes to my head because my amygdala is housing all of my aggressions and fears, close to explosions upon anything in my vicinity?
Or am I to close my eyes and daydream of better, happier times to arrive at my front doorstep sometime in the near future?
But my overactive thoughts stimulate several situations that could play out, and the ones I decide on making permanent effects in the future are the ones that end with me crying and hopeless
Maybe the life of an insomniac is even worse than people think- it is not the fact that we do not sleep that unnerves us, it is the fact that when we do not sleep, we overthink, and when we overthink, we depress ourselves with all of the outcomes and possibilities that can arise from the most trivial decisions to the most climactic ones
My anchors act as my comforter and hold me tight during my REM sleep when the vivid and electrifying dreams and nightmares play simultaneously like a horror film I am entrapped in
I hone in on the conflict and I am taken away in shackles into dreamland, a world worse than reality
And I cannot lucid dream, so my control, my grip on the direction of the thoughts slips away and the fabrication of my unconscious takes over until I wake up every hour on the hour breathless and sweating
I awake at all the wrong times, on all wrong sides of the bed
And falling back asleep is a difficult task to carry out each time, because of the lack of melatonin that seemed to be crossed of the checklist of necessities of being born
And so the cycle ensues for the next 5 hours
And I continue this routine day in, and day out
This is the life of an **Insomniac.
Alex Carpenter Jan 2014
an insomniac's pleasure,
a dying man's wish
to hear the voice of her,
the one thing they both miss;

whether love left quiet,
or love once lost
they'd do anything to hear it,
no matter the cost

while her voice would bring the dying man peace,
i doubt it would bring the insomniac sleep
she is but one of the dying man's wishes,
while she is what the insomniac misses;

so while the dying man dies,
and while the insomniac lies awake
one heart stops;
and another heart breaks.
oh, rose addicted lips,
cruel and beautiful,
whisper your gentle lies
and ponder;
what do you despise more,
the ache or the release?
.
Ottar Sep 2013
Rest easy, read these heavy words of slumber,
tap your chest to the beat of your heart,
empty out breath even from the deepest parts
the void, will fill itself, with sleep, I hope for your sake.

Scrunch those toes to close, then let them relax and let go,
Half close those toes and let them loose, shake them once and again,
Tense those calves, feet pointed at the ceiling, if you are willing,
Go half way and shake the tension away, from you,
Quads and hamstrings, next remember in pretext, full and halfway,
shake the tension away,,
gluteus maximus
then abdominals
and lower back
and in their turn
chest, those pecs to reflex and relax
latissimus dorsi, my oh my you got your back
shoulders,
hands of fingers, just like the toes,
pretty soon you might doze,
forearms, biceps and triceps too,
neck and face shrug and scrunch,
you don't have the answer,
so pucker your face,
eyes are the last close them once,
eyes are the last close them half,
eyes are the last,

I hope you never read this far,
unless you are awake, after a
night of rest fullness, so if it does
not work, know this, I will sit by
your side so you can unwind,
I have a good year for listening,
on pillow soft words, for you to put
your sleepy heavy head.


Good...night...yawn
Make sure you are not allergic to any of the teas below, you might end up sleepy but
awake at an emergency ward...
did your try a warm tea, mint or green does it for me,
lemon is fine, chamomile, or some kind of herbal or there is one called sleepy time...
Sylvia Plath  Jun 2009
Insomniac
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
May Cameron  Feb 2014
Tick. Tock.
May Cameron Feb 2014
Tick. Tock. Quarter to two.
Tick. Tock. I thought of you.
Tick Tock. Quarter to three.
Tick Tock. Do you think of me?

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac.

1 year 1 day and a half
How long since we last laughed.
1 month 1 day and a quart
I gave back the ring you bought.
1 week 1 day and an eighth
The last time I saw your face.

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac.

Too late to say I'm sorry.
Too late to take it back.
Too late to be together.
Too late to mend the cracks.

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac

I hope that you are happy.
I hope that she is too.
I hope you know I'm sorry.
I hope that she loves you.

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac

I regret it everyday.
It really wasn't worth it.
You were everything I wanted.
And I threw it all away...

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac

1 year 1 day and a half.
Too late to say I'm sorry.
I hope that you are happy.
I regret it everyday.

Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock. Insomniac
Garbage Dog Oct 2015
It's been 5 months
Recovering from 2 years
Of gentle giggles and heart felt hugs
2 am conversations and 3 am tired kisses
5 am would bring brightening skies and quiet goodnights
You always were a night-owl

I remember running through the forest
Staring out at our special spot
Listening to the water trickle down the creek
And something about the sparks in your eyes
Really made the place disappear
Even surrounded by all this magnificent nature
I was still lost in your beauty

I remember telling you my dreams
The adventurous journey across the Milky Way
When it rained clocks and time stopped
And that really stupid one about the tricycle in the skate park
You would always listen and tell me yours
But the real dream was seeing you when I woke up

I remember many special things with you
You were my first girlfriend
My stunning homecoming date
The first person to make me cry out of happiness
You were my best friend
I will never forget that

I remember a bitter-sweet memory of us too.
The room was quiet
I only heard the scratching from your pet mice.
The street lamp crawled through the blinds
And a warm hand touched my red, flooded, cheek
And our lips met
My first kiss, Your first kiss
Complete.

It's been 5 months
Recovering from 2 years
Of gentle giggles and heart felt hugs
2 am conversations and 3 am tired kisses
5am only brings my tear filled eyes nowadays
*I've always been an insomniac
Maya Angelou  Jan 2010
Insomniac
There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.
Amari Marauder Apr 2014
I am an insomniac by association.
I associate with sleepless nights and mindsets that are too wobbly and shaky to be anything less than a tornado.
I want to rename my veins after hurricanes.
This one's Sandy because it washed away the girl I loved in New Jersey.
Because the ocean is never as salty as my cheeks after I kiss her through the miles.
Because I am not a boy, because my mother thinks I wear black because I used to slit my wrists.
Because of my tattoos that whisper of their memories while I lay in bed counting the stars I can't see.
So I start counting the stars I see in my head.
So I started taking drugs that made me see them instead.
I am an insomniac because I want to sleep but only when I remember the reasons why I can't.
Astrea  Jul 2021
insomniac
Astrea Jul 2021
insomniac

tangible darkness
let me take a picture of you

paint you on the wall
scribble your name on waters

in your naked form
bend you, so no one else

knows you but me, alone

insomniac darkness — tell me
my muse, let me taste you,

bewildering, like arrows in disarray
and white birds

surreal as falling seraphs and forked tongues

moist darkness
what is sulking inside you must submerge

with manta rays hemmed in circles long ago
curled horns probing, testing bygones,

frozen dawn condensing my azure dreams ashore

— The End —