This is rude. I should stop using misnomers for my own devices, but I cannot help myself. So insomnia it shall be called, when I cannot find the words to sleep or the fervor to close my eyes.
That sounded all wrong on my lips, but my head could care less at this point.
The cool touch of my glasses on my nose wake me further. Way to go Grace, you're even more awake now. Like you ever needed it.
There's a jitterbug in my leg, sending me so sky-high.
Should I go to bed or continue pondering existence and words and dreams until my tongue goes numb from rolling all these R's: Rest, redeem, re-purpose, redo, remember. Always remember. Its hard to forget.
Days past and the insomnia persists. I have slept, perhaps, in that time, but yet I have not dreamed, and that is where my insomnia lies. Which lies do I mean, that is the real question, duality always tricks the eye.
Let's get these hearts beating faster, faster, to the beat of the music, while they touch each other's fingertips and kiss each other's lips and meet hips in a vain attempt to have it mean something more.
The words have left me, and I do not know where to end. So i propose another unbirthday be the day of reckoning, and maybe another poem, another day, my make more sense to me. Adieu my dears, and hope to pray to live just another day, for life is the most beautiful tragedy we can ever love.
