"insomniatic" poems
It's 1:00 AM now
I'm lonely
I'm so exhausted I can't see straight
I'm cold even though it's ninety plus outside
The air is so thick you can feel it wrap around, slide it's fingers around your face, suffocate
But I don't want to think about it
So I turn over and grab a bottle,
Pop a pill and swallow
I whisper goodnight to no one, except the brutal air
But it's 2:30 now
And I've seen no signs of my long lost lover I call sleep
Why won't they come to bed with me?
I dressed up just for the occasion, dawned in a tight and lacy navy blue tank top, catching the shape of my ******* perfectly, and cotton shorts of the same colour
But even this won't bait my lover
So I grab the bottle again and think to myself, "what's three more?"
4:15 and I finally feel my eyelashes start to flutter
I purr a little and notice everything starts to lose shape
I see in the distance what can only be my lover
He finally curled up to me tonight
With his fingers around my throat
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When all artistic, damaged or insomniatic souls
Feel like they're completely alone
Even though we're all awake and feeling the same thing.
12am is still too loud, still too car engines and shouting,
And 6am is too light, too exposing and awake, aware.
It's blackness but for the starlight puncturing holes in the sky,
That's when the magic arises and enchants us.
The way the moon looks at us and begs us to untrouble our weary hearts,
So we do it, and we do it willingly.
She is the most unfaithful lover, and it is beautiful.
How she cherishes each whispered secret so deeply
That it leaves a crater on her being.
How she takes on our pain unflinchingly,
And only needs 28 days to feel whole again.
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When the most trapped souls can feel such freedom.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
It was a night of music softly playing, listlessly upon the bed I was laying,
Lying awake with toss and turns without subtle hints of a snore…
And whilst this time my eyes did wander, avoiding the lids they should be under,
Suddenly as I was under, under the spell of consciousness I could not ignore…
“No, this cannot be,” I whispered, “this insomnia I cannot ignore;
Awake I lied, sleeping never more.
The clock soon read the 30th minute of two, and it was now that I knew
As I stares bleakly to the scuffled patterns of my feet on the carpet floor,
I tried to rise up from bed in hopes to gain; fatigue made that attempt in vain.
My eyes wrought forth tears from burning pain, the nightly air made them sore…
The darkness of the night air now silent but dry has left them burning sore,
Craving the sleep that comes never more.
My blanket held the rustling of my body so violently tussling
In anger—such anger that the blanket had suddenly tore;
And so now I laid there, with fluff of stuffing my blanket was ‘bleeding’,
“I fear that this must be the sleep I’ll crave, yet ignore,
For it seems odd this craving my body would so deviously ignore."
Still awake I lied, craving sleep ever more.
Restless I turned to my side, when then my eyes grew joyously wide,
“I had forgotten,” said I. “Cure for restless sleep, this bottle does implore";
Unfortunately, I took some previously- the limit to such an aid is a pity,
And the clock had struck three, three hours I am forced to ignore,
"Oh, the sleep that I needed…” I mourned softly on the time I had to ignore.
“I want sleep and nothing more!”
All the time I laid staring, the darkness faded, the sun now glaring;
Forcing a retreat of the darkness covering the scuffled patterns on the carpet floor.
A dawn’s glow shined with brilliance, against my eyes so red and resilient,
The sleep, once again a night of rest I craved for my body, so weary and sore,
For the sake of my eyesight now the sun’s gleam had made ever so sore
“Sigh, ‘tis another fortnight I sleep never more.”
© 2011
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Anxious, perplexed, insomniatic and imaginative
Forever questioning the positive and negative
These late nights attack your mind
Turn you into a different kind
Monsters, ghouls, witches and claws
The night infested with thoughts and thoughts
The light in the room is too bright in this darkness
Eyes are squinting, but the mind is relentless
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
I lay awake
Think of mistakes
My thoughts stay troubled
My eyes dilate
Problematic, can't shut off my mind
Insomniatic, can't close my eyes.
We all wake up in the middle of the night, perhaps after a night terror has given us a fright.
Life is a nightmare all in itself
We never know what to do with the cards we are dealt.
"It's easy," said no one ever.
No body stays to understand why
Whether it be friends that drift away or the ties that we sever.
There is a "lie" in every believe
There is an "end' in every friend.
There is no way to escape the "Real" in every reality, yet we pretend it's not there, because things make us happy. We see hope in life.
Yet how long does that feeling last when it comes to time?
We are all guilty of the good we have never done.
That's why we stay awake until the rise of the sun.
We all lead a lesser life but no one admits it until our time is done.
Take these thoughts and close your eyes.
Don't let these words corrupt your mind, for this was merely an attempt to rhyme.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
i lost my faith in magicians when they started pulling blades out of my pockets instead of doves and white rabbits and ribbons shakespeare used in his plays
i lost my faith in teachers when the tests they set grew to be not tests of my math skills but tests of my mental stability and insomniatic abilities
i lost my faith in families when inanimate objects and quixotic creatures shared my grief and forced me to learn about blood versus money as deities
i lost my faith in doctors when they decided prescriptions should be more than just about healing positively
i lost my faith in god(s) when i was offered a rickety ladder right after i prayed for strong feet
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Sleepless night
Insomniatic overlay
Dressed
Coffee in hand
Outside... Listening
As nature announces
The arrival
Of a brand new day
The night birds clear shrill
Accentuating
The whippoorwills petal soft coo
Tree frogs keeping rhythm
While the skyline
Gently eases down
The blackness
With the gentlest of pastel blue
From far far away
Comes the hoarse throated honking
Of a quickly approaching goose
Announcing it was coming through
No mistaken.
I did believe
The Happy song they are always making
Until that moment
As daylight broke the night
With the sudden crack of dawn
To my surprise this traveling troubadour
Singing as it went winging by
Turning out to be a swan
Meting out a greeting
Hello Hello Hello
Continuing to fly
While off in the waning distance
Fading with a sad persistence
Diminishing
The swan song ...finishing
With a distant cry
goodbye... goodbye.... goodbye
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
You will never hear the birds cry in the still morning.
You will learn the owl's nightly manifestation of lonely sorrow.
Your empty room will start to feel like a trap on bad nights and your own safe haven on good ones.
You will be able to hear your family's soft slumber from across the house.
You will barely be able to hear yours...
Insomnia will now be your best friend.
Treat it right or it can lead to deadly thoughts;
endless fears of sunrise.
You will be afraid of waking up..
Simply because your mind has taught you that sleep is freeing.
Your only escape from reality is late night thoughts and far away dreams.
so darling, you can always dream...
Until the brutal realization that dreams have to become reality,
and reality is making yourself useful,
and useful to others..
To the others that you hate seeing everyday.
Begin to question where your motivation went.
It wasn't always like this.
It wasn't always a constant battle of waking up for a new day.
But this is your life, your biggest nightmare. Tell yourself, are your dreams even safe anymore?
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
These nights where
sleep seems so far away
and you seem so near to me.
I can almost feel your hands
holding me through my sea of bed sheets
Or maybe that's just realization kicking in,
Whether that is true or not
I'm tired of these Insomniatic nights
where all I do is think of you
and how much I miss those comforting hands of yours.
**** you
for leaving me.
**** you
for not trying to save me.
For I am so far gone now
nobody can rescue me from these deep dark waters .
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Insomniatic clouds drizzle rain above my head
A dream-like thought I wish would thread
Though a poor seamstress, I truly am
My mind still frayed at every end
Wide awake I find myself
The rain, I cannot stop it now
It pours and pours, a thunderstorm
The water rises, a river formed
It proceeds to flood my thoughts once more
Booming thunder, lightning flashes
A fire started, spreading ashes
These awful, distracting dreams of mine
Have taken hold, have stolen time
So come insomnia, welcome back
Another night on this sleepless track
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 9:45 PM UTC
The insomniatic somnolence coats me.
16kHz of sound running through my eardrums.
Empty words written on the walls of bathroom cubicals.
The lifes of people who come and go,
Snagged on the emtpy soap dispensers.
***** lino floors folded at the edges.
The rattling sounds of doors locking around me.
Plastic seats flipped down to carry weights,
Of the people who come to just sit down.
The rusted hinges on doors I can't seem to leave through.
This is both my prison and my safety.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
laying in that bed,
that scorching, pernicious cradle,
waiting for wrongs to pass.
omnipresent voices echo in her head,
playing in the shadows and
taunting her every thought.
there she dwells, mourning the
years of silence that are finally taking their toll.
tossing, turning, struggling to breathe,
she prays for a bearable lullaby,
one that never appears.
in the air is the bay of the broken,
silent weeping is all that is heard.
she twitches, she tenses,
keeping her composure at a level of malignancy.
all she wants is peace,
all that comes forth is disaster.
so she sinks further into her sheets,
into comatose, where at least her mind can run.
horrified, restless, stuck.
insomniatic.
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 1:58 PM UTC
the crescent moon
sends casting lights
upon insomniatic eyes
bodies shadows dance
upon dampening grass
as bare feet beat
and leave their marks
upon the soft earth
with souls brought to life
under the gleaming sun kissed moon
in the spirit of that summer night
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
The full moon light glows upon
insomniatic eyes
Bodies' shadows fall upon
dampening grass
As bare feet beat and
leave their marks
On the soft earth, with
souls brought to life
Under the gleaming sun kissed moon
in the spirit of that summer night.
jm
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
Time is such a heavy concept, it falls like a rock but flies like a feather. The more you try to ignore it, the more it burns you; if you were to stare it in the eyes, you would likely go blind. What I'm trying to say is, I hate thinking that in less than 3 months, I won't have an excuse to see you everyday. That, in less than 90 days, they'll give me a piece a paper that is the key to the cage forbidding our distance. In less than 4,400 hours, I'll be packed and a couple hundred miles away. Of course, it'd only be 2,102,400 minutes until I dawn the cap and gown and am released into the world, but God only knows where you'll be and who you'll be with. So, in these last 7,776,000 seconds we have until they call our names and we walk the stage, I'm asking if it's worth it.
You are such a beautiful thing. Brighter than any star, stronger than any metal, softer than any heart... even though you try to convince me otherwise. Call me jealous and selfish, but the thought of you loving another makes my heart concave in a silent implosion. I think it's so very ironic that my heart decided to stop working not long after we said goodbye. It's like a small child that knows what it wants: your arms around me, your lips on mine, your smell on my clothes, your laughter in my ear, your beautiful brown eyes staring back into mine... and I wonder if it's been too long. And I wonder if 7,776,000 seconds is worth it.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
You think you've
got it
Oh, so hard now
(And tears are streaming down your face and darkness beats at your soul)
And then you
go and
Look around
(Because all you are is one more complainer.)
And You
know full well
others have it worse,
*(And for them,
you hope
they continue, to complain, because
maybe someone will listen, and
life is ruthless but death is death,
while you may as well be a ghost)*
But that doesn't change your
insomniatic habits of being unable to sleep until half past one
or
***your solitude of half-self-imposed loneliness because
you won't force your burdens upon your friends***
or
***the fact that you
cry yourself to sleep every night because
you can only mask your tears for so long.***
So you
breathe in daylight like it is air
(because darkness lessens and you must be ligherbrighter around other people)
and
fake a smile everyone believes and
(you still fall apart at night).
*you like to think that the night might be forgiving (because nothing else is)
and you
Hope your*
silent complaints
*might actually make a difference,
Even if
overall
the world has
just as many
Complainers
as before.*
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
my tolerance for incompetence
is obviously under modulus
intense tensive stress pressed
upon me
it's no nominal anomaly.
insomniatic consequences collect
with compounding interest
astounding acts of disrespect
compress my lack of patience.
I'm barely present in the moment
often engrossed in intellectual opus
enough with the hocus pocus
this stone just won't produce water
it's hopeless.
open minds let locusts in
and closed ones pay the pope in sin
good folks cope with life
on the inside,
too shy to reveal
they know the solution.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
*I
don't
want
to
sleep
because
I
know
you'll
be
there,
like
you
always
are,
but
this
time
I
can't
take
it
anymore.*
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
These cloudy nights I'm grateful
For how I cannot see you,
The way the water blocks your eyes
And makes my heart less see-through.
One year ago we made a choice
How fateful that weekend was,
By chance insomniatic texts
Lead to a night sin lust.
My car, coffee, a couch, so free,
I could spend days remembering,
My love for you had expanded
And beauty lead to simile.
"Your eyes are like the brightest stars."
And so began a life of soil
As I can only look down.
Not up, above, at those lights
For if I do I frown.
I recall your use of words
Beating around the bush,
Eventually you came to terms
And "I L you," came, pushed.
They say a prestige only works
If you can reappear.
I know you are not a magician
For nowhere are you near.
And since you left,
My heart feels cold
Whenever I look up.
I can't help but to wonder if
This will persist enough,
To drag onto my oldest days
How I had pushed my luck.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Loveless,
Love-letters,
That's what I'll send you,
That's what you'll send me.
Endless;
Dead end streets,
That's where I'll send you,
That's where you'll meet me.
Sleepless,
Insomniatic coffee-water drips until
It will dry up in the morning,
When the sun hits.
When the sun hits,
They will no place to hide away,
No lachrymose place to run to,
When the sun hits.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Loveless,
Love-letters,
That's what I'll send you,
That's what you'll send me.
Endless;
Dead end streets,
That's where I'll send you,
That's where you'll meet me.
Sleepless,
Insomniatic coffee-water drips until
It will dry up in the morning,
When the sun hits.
When the sun hits,
They will no place to hide away,
No lachrymose place to run to,
When the sun hits.
-Jamie F. Nugent
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
A century,
100 years,
Almost 1,200 months,
A hair over 5,214 weeks,
36,500 days,
Et cetera and Ad Nauseam.
A lot of time,
To build,
To demolish
To create,
To destroy.
But even with it all it is just a grain of sand that's in the hour glass.
But let's narrow our discussion here,
Let's just say part of one year,
More specifically 118 days.
Prose thoughts and insomniatic ramblings given a cohesive direction.
And a long time passion project procrastinated until now.
A lot can happen in 100 years,
Hell,
A lot can happen in 100 seconds,
Your bloods makes 5 complete laps in your body,
The Earth moved 3,000 kilometers,
And the average human being has 70 thoughts.
Imagine if you just latched onto one of those fleeting thoughts,
Seeing which way it took you,
New ideas perhaps?
Perhaps you remember something you long thought lost.
Again,
Et cetera and Ad Nauseam.
The air is thick,
Grey eyes bloodshot from the cigarette smoke and lack of sleep.
Townshend in a rare role,
As he holds court over the airwaves.
Warning of the masks worn by those who derailed others while rising to the top,
Their vices always taken to an extreme.
The night air is finally cooling down,
It's gentle waves giving me occasionally goosebumps.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
the bags under my eyes don't matter, don't ask about them.
i'd rather you give me a rough estimate of how many times you tossed and turned last night.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
The insomniatic nights,
I would lie in my bed looking here and there,
It's like I dwell in the dark,
But now I just take a pill or two,
And sleep in traquility.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC