#icantsleep
its only 6:47am
but i've been up since 2 something
i was thinking about who i am
i guess im doing well.
i went to sleep at like midnight
after late-night overeating at a Shari's on a thursday.
two hours was it, try as i might.
i was feeling a little sick of myself, honestly.
kind of sick of yourself where you just think,
"in the end, what's there in store for me?"
and come up with few answers.
it was so weird, waking up to complete darkness,
motionless for hours in pitch night, before the day starts.
alright, this wasn't anything new, but regardless,
it still made me think.
i don't quite know where i'm headed,
yes, im waiting for the sun, but what then?
can i just go back to bed?
it feels like i just spent it all on a daydream,
doing nothing, but waiting, waiting, waiting, to fall asleep,
just to dream in the dark instead.
if i dont think, or move for a bit, i can feel myself drifting,
but it feels kind of comforting,
despite deep craters beneath by my eyes, twitching,
i know i'll go back to sleep sometime.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
At this late hour
We tarry over tea and
Enchase each other
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 12:42 AM UTC
I'm in my bed,
And its 2am.
Once again
I'm awake.
How many nights
Must I see new day?
This is slowly killing me.
I don't know,
What should I do?
The thought
Of blades,
And pills,
And endless sleep.
Haunts my weary eyes.
How much longer
Can I survive?
I don't want to die
Or life this life.
I just want to feel free,
I just want to feel.
Something that's not...
Nothing...
I want to swallow,
Every pill I see.
And use my blade,
In my draw,
To let blood spill.
All of the thoughts are true.
Nothing is made up.
This is what I think at night!
And it scares me all the time!
I need help.
But I'm scarred to get it.
I just feel so lost.
With a sign telling me where to go right in my face.
But I just can't read it...
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC