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nightdew Feb 22
i think it's normal to miss people,
i can see you twirling your hair with your finger,
i can hear your melodious laughter rumbling through my mind,
i can feel your smooth skin under my fingertips.

i want to admire your beauty once again,
gaze into those dazzling eyes,
feel your lips locking mine.

but you're gone,
you've vanished into thin air,
leaving nothing but bits and bits of memories,
and countless amounts of heartache.

and along with you,
you've stolen my heart,
robbed me of the sun's rays,
and took away countless hours of sleep.

you've left nothing but pain,
poured me endless thoughts at 3 AM,
everything consists of missing you.

is missing someone like this still normal?
i don't think it's possible to get over you.
n.s.
Amanda Feb 10
Spend my nights counting sheep
Might as well change my name to Little Bo Beep
I have flocks of hundreds, leaping over fences
Counting them all, as the bleating overwhelms my senses
But they don’t lead me to the land of sleep
All these baa-ing, stinking woolly sheep
I’m sure they are sniggering, as they prance in my head
And I lay fighting with the covers in my bed
Eyes red turn to a window, lit with early dawn
Another night passed and the sheep have withdrawn
I head out, another day, clothes dressed inside out
Too late to change, too busy dealing with the fallout
Of arriving late to work, and to the boss’s rant and rave
God I can’t remember his name, is it Brian or Dave?
But slowly his voice fades to the sound of a bleating lamb
And his head takes on the form of an angry woolly ram
Baa, Baa, Blacksheep, the nursery rhyme sings
In my head.  I feel sudden expresso cravings
I battle through the rest of the day, coffee on tap
And at lunchtime I manage a ten-minute power nap.
Then home and an early night put into place
Hot milk, no TV, a book to create a relaxing base
I am primed for the perfect night’s sleep.
But two hours later, I am wide awake. Counting sheep.
Broadsky Jan 26
It's 4:18 in the morning and everyone here at home is asleep, they can't hear me tossing and turning in my bed, the squeek of the springs are keeping me awake.
It's 4:19 in the morning and I'm packing a bowl wishing you were here next to me.
It's 4:20 in the morning, I flick my lighter and inhale, hoping you feel a little buzzed too.
Can't help myself.
Levi Jan 17
4 times the earth orbited the sun yet only once did you stop to see your shadow.

87,600 times it allowed you to second guess but you didn’t face it, just watched me sink right in.

Sinking sands of committed hands brought pressure but no diamonds. No light to revolve around.

Now I’m ticked off thinking this was a waste of my time. Not much of a leap, yeah?
Can you guess what surprised me today?
frynona Oct 2018
i can't sleep and it's 3am
i gotta wake up early tomorrow again
i gotta be somewhere tomorrow
i have to go to bed
lol sleep if for the weak
Josh Oct 2018
Waking up at 4am,
Thinking of you,
Laying awake in bed,
Thinking about the

Times we’d lay there,
Together,
Thought it would last,
Forever,

But like all things it
Seems it had to end,
But did it?

I told you to leave but
Never said goodbye,
I said I wanted us to
Stop, but that was a lie,

I caused you pain
But it hurt me more
And now you have
Moved on, from me

But I’m still stuck in
The past,
I just, thought we
Would last...

I don’t know what to,
Say,
I don’t know what to,
Do,

I told you to just let go,
But I never did myself.
JovialPup Aug 2018
I sit and wait, awake
Close my eyes to no avail
Night loves company
Okay last one for the night. Hopefully I'll pass out soon
Jamarin Apr 2018
I once dreamt of blood
Spilling on the carpet floor
And I know I can't ignore
Who the person is
Deep down
I know
But I can't see the face
For some reason
My finger just can't seem to place
Then I wake up
In a cold sweat
and the demons told me
That was you
Then I go back to sleep
With tears in my eyes
Knowing my soul is slowly dying.
A dream once upon a time
the wallflower Mar 2018
A poetess sleep is non-existent without
Analyzing
                 Decoding
Rephrasing
      Ticking
My mind is poetically undisturbed
Until the morning dawn breaks the surface of a midnight blue
A pen turns into a harpoon
And a poem forms from the gloom
up like an insomniac
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