Did you ever wonder if you were living in hell
And all of our misfortunes is our torment

And why your life isn't going too swell
Or maybe everything is so disorient

But you'll just diagnose me as insane
Yet It's simply just a speculation

It's ironic how humans can even be inhumane
And so tragic that living is sometimes damnation

The mad man sat in a tower
Wishing for power
Instead he was chained
And slowly went more and more insane
As he wished for revenge

Deeply suicidal
                                               and
momentarily insane.

for the need to drown
out the noise of depression.


I fall into the crest of every wave,
             hoping each will


wash my pain away.

But the reality is I



drown deeper.

My soul is the tune-up to my autopilot life.

Shining through bright Windows of clarity
I manage to change just one or two things,
But this drag-on stage drives me
slowly insane.

So infuriating and insidious,
When I realize I'm the fool,

Unable to change, for I've but time sensitive tools.

So I search for panes scattered throughout strife;
Use my pain to grow,
Till I'm worthy of you gracing my life.

if sleep is for the weak, why aren’t i strong?
clearly that saying is nothing but wrong
but i’m forced to smile when people play along
“oh i couldn’t sleep either! i can relate”
i wouldn’t wish this on my terrible roommate
to lie in bed as i deteriorate
knowing the next morning will retaliate
i’ll barely be able to make it through the day
or much less hide my decay
it hurts when you don’t understand what i say
i wasn’t anxious or in complete disarray
i’m genuinely insane or at least halfway
you don’t know what it does to a person to be forced to stay awake
i’ve tried everything, even posting want ads
in hopes to find the sleep everyone else seems to have
i cry every night, not because i’m sad
but because i’m so frustrated with my new fad
of staying awake all hours of the night
ignoring the aching i’m given out of spite
it’s enough to make me wish to run into the light
and finally reward myself with a sleep filled night
the problem is i’m a bit of a socialite
i keep what i go through out of sight
if i don’t i may be viewed as impolite
for speaking only of struggle in search of a spotlight
so every night i’m filled with nausea
at the dread of wanting to avoid the phenomena
of another sleepless night of ignoring the obvious
my brain is sick because I have insomnia

How long would I have to hide ?
From people’s eyes
Would I rather be jilted
than be preyed upon ?
Is it a dishonour to be who I am,
is it disgraceful to show the real me ?
I fear not the blasphemy thrown upon me
Nor do I hide behind the curtain of feebleness
It’s those eyes full of doubt, of the people I love
Doubting my sanity, my reason
Those eyes.

What, where is the poetry

it is 4:20, on 4-20-2020,

my wife walks in right after I enter an early evening
re-read to make it seem

poetically planned to hatmonize perfectly

she says, if we can get to El Cajon by 4:20,

I think perfect,
she wants me to do the impossible, again

but then I remember spring ahead that we voted
to stop doing but they did,

I must not have, sprung ahead, for a poetic moment up there,

if we can get to El Cajon by 4:20,

they can **** our dog. Oh...

and a whole long story began, which is why

after all is said and done, 4-20-2020 is a global holiday.