"sleeplessly" poems
Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.
Dawn in New York groans
on enormous fire escapes
searching between the angles
for spikenards of drafted anguish.
Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because morning and hope are impossible there:
sometimes the furious swarming coins
penetrate like drills and devour abandoned children.
Those who go out early know in their bones
there will be no paradise or loves that bloom and die:
they know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
in mindless games, in fruitless labors.
The light is buried under chains and noises
in the impudent challenge of rootless science.
And crowds stagger sleeplessly through the boroughs
as if they had just escaped a shipwreck of blood.
12.7k
Let the haunted emptiness
Let it take me away
Carry me into deep darkness
Lift me out of this day
Close my eyes with nights caress
And sleep enclose and unwind
For the relief of my stress
And I float in a dreaming mind
The morphing shadows of black
Swirl in terrifying scenes
In fear I try escape back
To such a place without dreams
Now listlessly awake I lay
Tired, but unable to rest
Sleeplessly caught in the sway
To far gone, drifting in grey
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
there would be blank canvasses
empty words
silently echoing the pages of poems not written
of narrative never revealed
from muses overwhelming
spirits overflowing
onto sugar coated melodies
woven into lyrics that
pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds
there would be blank canvasses
empty words
of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches
immortalized by brush strokes or camera shutters
empty panels of superhero legends forgotten
there would be blank canvasses, empty words
of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs
but most definitely, most importantly,
there would be blank canvasses, empty words
and
hands that never itched
to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves
residing in sharpie stained notebooks
and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds
moves great minds
with melodious lyricism
which haunts souls
taunts souls
with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax
there would be pens never emptied dry
cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors
muses would never possess individuals
sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves
after suffering from the doldrums of writers block
blank canvasses, empty words
in a world without art
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
this large empty bed seems like
a c r e s wide without you here in it.
I want to hear you laugh
and taste cream cheese wontons
on your tongue.
and when we wake up, you will smell musty and sour
like our tent of **********
always smelled
I want to hear the funny nose whistle you make
I need to clutch at your
chest and gasp
beg you
for release
but for now i will lay
naked, alone
in my football field nest of pillows
and dream, sleeplessly
of your sweaty brow
Aug 5, 2011
Aug 5, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
Dear 17 year old me,
You'll fall in love with a boy this year that will bring you as much happiness as pain.
You'll fall in love with his eyes, and the dimples in his smile,
And dear girl you will cry when the loneliness of his departure makes the innermost of you empty and aching.
I would tell you to run now, that when your friend tries to give you his phone number, to turn her down.
But in this pain, five years later, five years of the highest highs and the lowest lows, as I ache from the innermost of me and feel empty, in this pain I tell you do not run.
Without him, you will not have a million poems, you will not have some of the best nights of your life. You will not sleeplessly wonder what you've done wrong, or sleepily whisper your "I love yous" into his ear.
And what is love without heartbreak?
What would I be without him?
Humor me, little past self. Fall in love with him. Write poems about his eyes, write letters to him with no end. Love him. Lose him. Fight him. Love him again.
And then come back as me, twice as strong and twice as weary.
You won't regret it.
Love, you at 21.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
there is still jalapeno under my nails,
i know because i bite them.
i feel microcosmic
i feel macrocosmic
i feel that the night i knew you were > all the deadend wannabe artists with groomed hair and a knack for saying the wrong things at the right times
the moon was full as a curvy woman's hips
and i sleeplessly felt its caress through the sky the roof my heart
it carried me pieces of you
and they fit
people ask me if i'm madly in love with a smirk
people ask me what happens when it goes wrong
first loves die hard, they say
i don't know what happened to make everyone assume that
love is destined to be a ship lost at sea
my mom raised me to be tenacious
and darling,
you know it's true
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
5a.m. for the fourth day in a row
ruby red filigree in my eyes glows
sleepless fissures reflect in the window glass
and
I ride this train again
and I
still feel
nothing
6p.m. for the fifth night in a row
snuffer of light continues on his show
sleepless pursuit demands another dosage
and
I ride this train again
Focused
I feel
Nothing
12 o'clock noon for the tenth day in hand
lunchtime finds me at an old street side stand
hypnotized, eating, still entranced by a man
and
I scan his dossier
and I
still feel
nothing
2a.m. neon tracers over dance
undulating bodies keep up to task
sleeplessly bound for fate encounters of chance
So
I stand in rain again
Lonely
I feel
Hopeless
Would waking correct me
I'd kneel down, delighted!
Fall softly to sleep
under these streetlights.
Would my call permit me
I'd retreat in belief
that all will be well!
Under these blinking white streetlights,
under the cosmos
but my work commits me
to wakeful burden, to half-light alley-
ways in Hell
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
When lamination slowly starts to creep
We weep
We seek
To release
We're meek
Helpless
Sleep sleeplessly
Terrible dreams
We seek what they mean
Froze
Stuck
In our lamination
Paralyzed in our dreams
Rainbows and unicorns were not in them
And if they were they were what led me to these nightmares
Nightmares when I try to run
Try to scream
Try not to stare at the rising sun
My lips blue
lying on the beach
Skin pale and sand smeared lips
Eyes unblinking
almost vacant, but not quite
There's still life!
My body rarely barely breathing
So still that it's eerie
My brown eyes almost vacant and unmoving
I know I'm there
I can hear the ocean
I can feel the morning breeze brushing my sand covered face and the strands of my hair
The problem is that it isn't me
There's no way I'm this beautiful or pale
Yes, I'm almost dying
But she's not me
Her skin is a white porcelain
Her eyes are the only thing of mine that's hers
Her hair brown
Her figure slim yet curvy
I'm in her body
I remembered
My body changed
But not my soul
This is me
The opposite of me
In a parallel universe who almost succeeded in what I did
My soul was showing me what my other me did too
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
The night had been pretty obnoxious,
twisting and turning sleeplessly,
various jagged up thoughts provoking me in,
i rubbed my eyes,
constantly
washed my face
to get a more clear picture of myself,
shit,i still look the same,
the same old me,
ugly,
scarred,
bruised,
weird cheeked,
abnormal finger shapes,ugh,
everytime i look in the mirror,
i hope to see an improvement.
but i fail,
all the time,
i mean,
just for once,if i could be
satisfied.
for a minute,
and still tell myself,
"phew,you did look alright than before,though for a few seconds, wow,"
NO.
doesnt happen ,now.
i try to be as positive as i can,
only if it could re-create my distorted face image
and i could confidently talk to guys or anybody else,for that matter,
eye-to-eye.
if i could be confidently walk without hiding my scars from people,
who might just crack a joke
or prank up
or ***** on me
i'm
sick and tired of all of this
Help me now, or watch me leave.
that shall happen,v soon.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Man goes through his existence walking on the edge of nothingness, while his bones are cracking viscerally; his humiliation from slave to slave is now constantly ripening, since he has long been the petty plaything of worms and maggots. Now he would rather practice walking in place a little more stubbornly, the tactics of the guest-passenger, stripped to the bone, are straining against each other, a writhing swarm of beetles is stopping his running, because a rubbing interest would decimate, lick the big whole, from which the average person certainly gets less.
Belittled, low-lying ants fight in a noisy concert quite often, because whoever begs for a warning, calls for help or hopes is now a suspect element; This current vile Age plants dust-scattering arguments in the ranks of corruptible souls, because everything and everyone is accompanied by the fever of possession for a lifetime, the depths of the underworldly filth often disgust even those who try to tolerate the filth.
In tendered dog nests, they would tender the juicy marrow bone, which the average person can never receive, and cannot win, as some kind of deserved, simplified honorarium, or pleasing compensation, rootlessly, to the detriment of life and other accounts, and a few hearty slaps are due to those who speak up and humble themselves for remaining European and human.
And while the canings are increasing in number, they immediately **** off the homeless who are begging and begging, they have to struggle sleeplessly, like a miserable ***** with the uncertain hurricane tide raging to the point of unknown, with storks' nests, not just a whistling nickel samovar that will last another hundred years - but a century of nuclear mushroom clouds!
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 12:22 AM UTC
In vicksburg national burial place of the dead
A silence cradles the land
Voices of the cemetery
Loudly utter, words
Stroking butter
The sound is not
Bland.
The union sleep
Still awake in their beds
The rain never falls
The rain is just as dead
The civil war hasn't ended
Cry the tears of seventeen thousand ghosts
These souls are remembered
By the vows that they took
Sleeplessly haunting
The visitors to their arrival
The dead more than living
Are awake to the grassy place so vital
The war still goes on
Though to us it has ended
These men are still seen in their
Clothing unattended
Their plans ended shortly
Their plans unamended
This place awakes the voices
Of the wars recommended
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Sleeplessly I stumble the side walk,
A man.
No, I was something other than a man.
A man would hold their head high and sing songs of glory.
Deep bellows would slush around his words.
Dominance would gush.
Strong and unburdened.
Shoulders wide and broad.
Just like the horizon that rose for him.
Setting ablaze his inner beings.
Tempers unable to be tempted.
Slightly tipped to one side.
Animosity of being such a way.
Strongly glaring at the world.
A mold that doesn't fit whom he should be.
Never told to be a man.
Because that's how he always acted.
Edgy and living up to expectations.
Male companions never wavering.
Unable to shed this masculinity.
A stage set for man.
Started when he was a boy:
Pick fights,
Be tough,
Never shed a tear,
Do not show weakness;
When brought to your knees, that could never happen.
A man never falls down.
Never sees darkness.
But the wholesome sun that rose for him.
It's the way everything started.
It's the reasoning behind his ability to batter and abuse.
It's why his lovers always felt the strength of his hands.
Why his brothers in arms never said a word.
It's the same reason I walk the streets alone.
Never able to ask for hand with a closed fist.
And never taught to open them.
Only taught to beat yourself dead.
No longer able to continue life as a man.
That's why so many of us end up dead by our own hand.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Hexagonal yet
fashioned into a pattern;
process of dying.
Sleepless before day.
"Sunlight"; a curse for vampires,
not wretched function.
-Not impurity,
the presumptuousness of
those who point at us
and call us sinners.
They pray and sacrifice their
children [pentagon].
-We preach free speech, but
stab the tongues of fascism
deliberately.
Gaslighted by a
genocidal culture, we
fight back [pentagram].
~
Carving sigils in
frantic vanity eating
death incarnate, whole.
Hell is paradise,
and here we relish the filth
built up in corners,
where history fears
to show it's face and be struck
back into darkness.
Back into process,
simple pattern of dying.
Machines that grind flesh.
War machines by name;
"Liberty", "Freedom", "Safety".
Sleep can be wicked.
Where it interprets
the death of the innocent
as "necessity",
or claims tradition
is inherently wisdom;
"That's just how it is".
~
Sleeplessly in night,
I tap my finger against
a cold damp window.
Mass paranoia
for doomsday ticking downward,
not to zero though.
We wait for midnight.
Perpetuation of fear
is hexagonal.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:33 AM UTC
Once again I pass the night sleeplessly
This repetition is almost military
They crack their whip and I attempt rebellion
Unable to keep me in the line they have me running laps
Chasing me, feigning amusement with cheers of excitement
But I know I tire them as much as they taunt me
These mindless shadows never break from routine
Unable to forget, incapable to remember
They start their terrorizing each night with inhuman enthusiasm
Commenting on my actions and thoughts with shock and surprise
Do they not remember I have heard this all before?
The fear within me grows as each day starts and repeats
Fear that they will never tire, that I will never rest
But I can choose to forget
And in memory I remind myself this-
Though my mind grows weary in their communist regime
And there is yet a hero to overthrow their ghost king
I learn in repetition, and will continue every night
Maybe I will become worthy one day
And call all to revolution.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
The sweet song of the humming computer
Follows me into the corner of the room in my dream
Where I curl up and wake
To the softly rising sun in the west.
The sun gives no light;
It can’t decide whether to sing or not
Can’t decide whether to be real today.
I look to the half-light of the West
And back to the door in the corner of the room in my dream.
The door is black and deep and dark
And warm and inviting
With the smell of comfort and mystery
In air that I cannot breathe.
I follow the open door
And don’t amend the smell –
The smell of the nonexistent air
The smell I follow through the doors of my dreams.
And I follow and follow
Up stairs and through long halls underground
The feeling of the substance around me, the substance of the dream
Calling me to my friends and the memories in the future
The memories that are falling asleep, the memories
I want to wake
And drown with the light and rush of my lungs this morning.
The morning doesn’t exist.
The morning is afar away, in a different world, that a different me
Will never see again.
The morning is coming far too quickly,
But it doesn’t exist, and so I fear not and follow the door.
Think not.
Breathe not.
Sleep not.
Amend not.
I follow. Sleeplessly, feellessly,
Like a ghost in the corridors of sunless memory.
There is no dark.
We are lit by the days that are
In the air
That is not air
The feeling, the smell, of swimming
In body-temperature water
There is nothing to feel
To breathe
Or smell
But the dream around you
And your soul, at home, holds you back from breathing in too deeply.
A new place, slipping into the water
In a different form this time
--- but I have no form
I am all forms
The seal, the otter, the water-air around me
Swimming through and catching the flashing fish
The silver, sweet, tasteless, flashing fish
Imprints of glittering eyes that I dart after in my dreams.
A person.
Standing.
In the background.
Hello. I can see you.
You are blind?
Ah. We are all blind here. I see you in one guise, you see me in another.
I am the air.
I am the water.
I am that smell, that feel of feeling the dream
The clear mist around you
A bubble of translucent warmth without temperature
I am your silver flashing fish
I am your breathless dawn
I am your setting, rising sun
And I would give anything
To know who you are.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
my entire life i've run away from my mind
fearing it's demise could come at any time
as a little girl id kick and scream
trying to run away from my daydreams
every thought i had, bursting at the seams
as i lay in bed ; sleeplessly
but now a funny thing
i find myself embracing how i think
perhaps thats a good thing
maybe, im just deranged
but for once in my life, maybe both are the same thing
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
combustion was concealed
as flashes of despair,
created plaque throughout
bruising memories.
catastrophic events
euthanized rational thoughts,
as grinning cheeks sparkled
upon dawning drizzle.
dejavu sprinkled sunshine
on a fainting glow,
as the moon smiled in
devious nightmares. .
pergatory a permanent domain,
sleeplessly engaged with ghosts
haunting her final dormitory.
life embezzling imperfections,
death welcomed infectious diseases.
limbo remained faithful
between pulsating beats,
while inhaling peculiar oxygen
embezzled immortality.
pulsating heartbeat expired,
long before the coffin nail
unearthed its final target.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC
At night, the house
in darkness,
the sleepers
restless, at the mercy
of their dreams,
or no dreams at all,
sleeplessly wandering the halls
like Father Christmas;
a sip of whisky's better
than cookies and milk,
still, it won't work,
problem is, under the tree,
there's a present
with your name on it.
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
Two lost souls
in each other found
but for only a moment
fleeting and cruel
for nothing in this life shall last.
Each time I am punished
for sweet folly
in which I know I am
reckless to indulge
but hope is my poison
and a high I cannot forfeit.
I trick myself to escape
regret over the walls,
once my steadfast fortress,
which I let crumble and decay
so that I wear my pain plainly
as testimony to my recklessness.
My tears fall, not only for the future I know
we no longer have chance to possess,
but also for the past:
a time in which I felt I was enough.
Maybe the flaw can be found
within my own nature,
a restlessness only a gypsy soul
will ever know
married to unwavering expectation
that the standard by which
I conduct my own action
is fair to desire in return.
All of this I think
in the dark hours
of midnight
as you sleep soundly, my love,
while alone I sleeplessly weep
with the realization of the fact
that all you will ever give me of love
is the same I've always known.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
Is she mad?
No, not mad...
DESTROYED.
A dark shadow; hidden.
Only an outline can be seen, a figure that looked nothing short of deadly.
Stalking her target as a cat would stalk her prey.
Observing, plotting, waiting...
She sniffs out her victim.
Enlarging her pupils to an inhuman degree.
Quickly, she changes vantage points as her object of affection slowly faded into the night.
An evil grin overtakes her face and distorts her features.
She admits a low chuckle.
Her rage and desire for revenge was all she had.
Everything that made her who she was snatched from her under the cover of night.
Visions of his lustful eyes still sting her skin.
Sleeplessly, she lies there. Eyes wide.
A tear slowly curls and pools in the corner of her eye.
The nightmares and flashbacks never fade.
Lies were all that bound their love,
Her truth and her truth alone could not withhold him.
The color in her face diminished,
The twinkle in her eye did not shine any longer.
For she only allowed her beauty to be found within him.
But now....
He was gone.
She gazed at the bruises that seemed to crawl up her arms,
Pacing back and forth for several hours at a time....
Her feet grew numb and mind became cold.
No light ever reached the room where she resided,
No sound entered, nor departed.
Her existence was far from reality.
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 3:25 PM UTC
Another dawn breaks,
“Again the chilled border,
Has gone red with terror”
On my TV screen Olive green
Uniforms shaded in brown,
Lied on the stretchers,
Some still, some wriggling with,
Pain creeping to the core.
You and me being safe at home
Fought with each other, over
The extra cube of sugar,
That spoilt the taste of tea.
We always grumble, castigate,abuse,
Inside the safe walls of home.
While those fearless men,
Sleeplessly guard our borders.
Salute to those brave men who,
Forget their love and life for us,
And go back home in coffins,
Covered with a nation’s pride.
Bullets pierced their body, splashed
The warm blood, from their hearts,
Flooded in the memories of their
Loved ones, all far off.
Salute to those mothers, sisters
Wives, daughters, sons and bros,
Who surrender to their loss,
And say,” I love my nation,
And I‘m proud, that my son,
My brother, my love and life,
My dad, lived for this nation,
Lived for each one of you…"
Let’s pity ourselves, you and me
For, we forget them in a day,
Sitting in our cool, cozy rooms,
And argue over mean things
Because we have no worries,
When they are there to die for us,
Not letting us to surrender,
To the terror, fear and worry..
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
the ways that the candlelight
would illuminate the rises of your cheeks --
soft, sullen, sunken,
stretched, silhouetted.
the ways that my fingertips
would trace the point of your nose,
the fluttering frames of your eyelashes,
the ever-running ridges of your spine.
how you would speak to me
about far-off lands, gods and Greeks --
singing, sighing, searching,
sleeplessly, sightlessly.
the ways that your nails
would ebb and flow over the distant
distinct disconnected dashes of those
that dared to walk before those like us.
meager.
minuscule.
misplaced.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
*the leaves look so lively
with its birds resting sleeplessly
as I recognise the sun shines passionately
unlike my back of mind, deadly--
parting it ways from gay to blue, intensely
yet longing for no more, lovely.*
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
after a night spent tossing
& turning,
sleeplessly overheating
& burning
i wake now to you
seeping through the open window
enveloping my body
caressing my skin
implanting the dire
hunger within
it all feels so out of place
but you-
this electrifying cold-
have found home with
me here, in
the room of the misfit,
as he once more strains
to open his eyes and
absorb the external
don't leave me, there's
no reason we ever have
to leave this bed again
our story is written
in the stars
clearly and beautifully
there's no reason to
leave this bed again
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC