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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

to the deer i mortally wounded at five o clock on saturday morning in maupin oregon,

A horrifying sound tore sleep out of me that clear fall morning.
it rang and rang and rang and rang and rang like the 5 o clock church bell
in little empty nowhere town central oregon territory.
the sounds of impending death came from somewhere,
maybe they crawled from deep inside my psychotic insomniatic delusions;

foreshadowing the coming  tragedy
about five miles down the road about five minutes in the future.

my plaquey teeth dug into stale French loaf and stinking
tongue dug old butter from plastic cartridge.
while
your teeth tugged at tender grass tendrils beside mystic river warm
tongue lapped up river’s crystal clean waters

i longed to somehow cleanse myself of imaginative terror echoing sound around
as i wound through sleepy town,
'no life moves this early,' i presupposed
my thoughts found shelter amid a current obsession of mythic redside trout
swiftly rising from riverbottom at my orange stimlator siz 8 elkhair fly,
and the battle that may quite possibly follow.
if i only attain this once in a lifetime
i will be content i promise.

car continues down hill
i witness silverpink powerhungry **** of river flowing
omnipotent sherars falls roaring below me.

slit eyes fixated themselves on picturesque sunrise
as temporary monument jumpstarting new life from those cold old bold nights

too-nice car took potholes and washboard trail efficiently,
it sped bumping onward upstream bleary eyed coffeelessness.
heavy eyes, when not periodically closed, focused on roaring river
to my right and pink sunrise to my up, canyon walls lit up pink limestone
awakened each new day discovered.

rude too-nice car kicked up pesky dust.
i was mid-apologizing to any creature it bothered this early in the morning when
my left eye captured

you (adult black tail doe, perfect purity)

rocketrun from the left bank spooked by
unnatural sounds
caused by
machinery technology engine tires internal combustion radiator hammering cylinders
my hands twitch left on wheel attempting to swerveavoid

you(adult black tail doe, perfect purity)

attempt to dash uproad away escape
diamond hoofs dig but not enough
car slams into your right front shoulder
buckles, cracking
your depthless black eyes
glisten with surprise
pain, doom
courses through your sinewy perfect muscular
body
i gasp and drive off fifty feet low speed

my rearview mirror reveals that you will not walk this one off.
instead you suffer deeply, immensely,
jumping wildly, falling into dust, getting up, flailing, falling
striking pink sunrise behind you silhouettes your broken movement so very clearly.

car inches onward i honestly know not the correct ethic
“never approach a wounded animal” and
“you ******* coward put it out of its misery its not dead it is suffering you half killed it it didn’t deserve it you half killed it you ******* you should die in its place
you killed mother nature herself”

i had no gun, only a hunting knife, fishing gear, old french bread
if i had a gun i don’t know if i could have shot you dead
my shaking hands and teared eyes would fare me poorly

i drove off slowly, leaving you to die there in ****** pink sunrise
alone, suffering
crying out this terrible cry,
stealing it from my previous nights dreams
my too-nice car inches around corner until you are visually out of sight
i am not crying externally but internally i am a tempest of emotion,
i smash black dashboard with fists screaming at myself static noise i can hear nothing time stops
“i killed it i killed her why didnt i see her”
i try to convince myself it all didn’t happen
and failed
i try to convince myself you live
and failed

the guilt i bear is immense
you were undeserving
you are eternally etched now
you are a deserved scar
we are forever connected

i now cradle your still warm carcass within eternal arms of my subconcous
my metafingers lightly touch your left broken shoulder bones
death stole you like it steals all, untimely, undeserving, brutal.

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.

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

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 .

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

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

Its been a long while since I rambled in the night, while my head won't get tired and everything feels like lightening.

But two years later and its just like I remember. Makes my skin itch a bit less, but here I am, alone late at night, whirling about in my in-congruent thoughts. There's an electric peace about it, the mix of its familiarity and its origin.

Not surprising after my first big low of the summer that I have my first big high. Just kinda odd how easy it all feels. Its no pounding, screaming, kicking, biting. Its just like a neighbor stopping by.

I guess now to the ramblings. The expounding expression of my random, endless thoughts to get them out of my head and try to get me to bed.

I thought about love a lot on my way to work. Granted, I work only a five minute walk from home. But I remembered how the definitive point in time where I decided what kind of love meant most to me happened in the worst summer of my life, the most hopeless depression I ever felt.

Mom liked that I was quiet about it.

Dad was oblivious.

Friends forgot I existed.

Then there was him, the one I never expected. He was angry. So angry.

He was so upset he was losing the person he loved to my depression and he felt helpless to do anything about it. He needed me to fight. He needed me to get better. He couldn't stand watching who I was fade away.

He yelled at me.

I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't.

I'd been content to float, to hide behind my childhood walls and use the same tactics that hid my mental turmoil all of my life. If no one saw it, it was ok. Its what my parents always taught me.

Yet he looked at me, heard my mentions of pain and non-existence, and couldn't stand it. He didn't want me to change, or never be crazy. He just wanted me to have a will to fight it. To get better.

He didn't want to lose me just because it was so much easier.

I think its why I began to hate my parents, for awhile. Compared to wanting to set me on fire to save me? How could their naive complacence compare? I hid a lot from them, I grant. But that summer I told my mom I wanted to be hospitalized.

She said no.

If no one saw it, it was ok, right?

I couldn't stand all the years I spent trapped between those walls, feeling like I was hiding some mythic beast inside me, like I had to do everything right because everything in me was wrong. Outside, I was their cheery, sweet, smart, empathetic perfectionist. Inside, I was a passionate, dark humored, fireball of curiosity and imagination and limitless possibilities. The two never quite meshed, but I never got the chance to find a way to do that. Only the chance to force them apart.

Makes relationships hard when you've become two people. And once the other one shows up, everything changes. You're a lie, now.

Things are starting to mesh better, little by little. But its been a long journey.

Seems quiet acceptance isn't the love I like most. Fire is.

And its even wilder now that, after years of moving away from that isolation and pain, I'm finding a new belonging in the things that I used to cope. I thought they were all just silly things I did because I had nothing else. Now I prefer to do them instead.

As if on cue, I'm distracted by some writing and my head is slowly calming. I guess its my cue to bid this adieu. Always fascinating, how a thought-dump helps settle an insomniatic head.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

The “C” in Campbell
Left my proud resolve in shambles
As I made my rounds
I took a deadly gamble
With my witless hands
I spent my plans
On sleepless nights clouded with suicide

One step from the edge
The overpass fence
Became my best defense and my closest friend
I walked aimless
Anxious under bruising skies

The “C” in Campbell
An edgeless dead-end town
I sought my self-destruction
But no self was found
Only the burnt out and bored there
Spun out on cold stares
Hung out to air dry
By the slow creek with graffiti eyes
Broken hearts
Muted lies
We rummaged through stolen goods
Sneaking an alibi

The “C” in Campbell
We thought we were so much bigger
So much smarter
But we could never deliver

Not quite beautiful
Not quite scorned
We were insomniatic
Thrilled with being half-born

A buck shy of broke
I was thinning away with every rhyme that I wrote
Like a fevered poem
I was skin and bones
So alone

The “C” in Campbell
I dream of you washed in light
Freed from that which harbors you
The depravities of night

I know your streets are not so clean
I know your stars
I know your amphetamines
I know you too can be redeemed
From mediocrity and self-pitty
The underbelly of a forgotten city
Skin and bones
So alone

The “C” in Campbell
Believe
Believe!
There’s no other way out