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Uhh Who Feb 2013
Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever
12/12/12
Cameron Godfrey Apr 2012
Those purple circles
Under my eyes
Marks of sleeplessness
I can't disguise
Concealer only covers
The layer of skin
But underneath the makeup
There's still weary eyes within
I haven't slept
Not a wink of rest
Ever since you came
And made this mess.
*Sweet Dreams
Jay M Mar 2019
Sleeplessness plagues my body,
Whilst emotions run about my head in an endless parade,
Most empty, whilst others weigh me down below,
Run, hide, leave, fly free,
I dare not obey them, for they shall lead me to my demise,
Untimely, yet fate claims otherwise.

They tell me I’m too young to understand.
Are they sure of what they say?
My maturity is beyond my age, or so I’m told,
It may grow with me, or merely just be put in bold,
This is all my mind can hold,
All I can bare.

Love turns to ashes,
With all that I wish I could say,
I dream it were still here,
The ghost by my side,
With all I hold dear,
I dream it’s still here.

Phantom, it stares into my soul,
I dream of escape,
When I was it disappears,
So easily,
I feel it slipping away,
Every night.

See the truth lying in their eyes,
The truth that they buried inside,
The fire, seething within,
Burning your heart,
Your very soul,
If only these scars would heal.

- Jay M
January 31st, 2019
Tim Gronek Sep 2013
SLEEPLESSNESS

I try my best to fall asleep at a decent hour
Yet, sometimes it seems I don’t have the power
No matter how hard I give it a try
Something always stops me and makes me want to cry

I have tried all the tricks in the book
If you only knew how many hours it took
Counting sheep, counting backward, or saying prayers
Nothing seems to work-I’m pulling out my hair

When I finally do fall asleep at night
My dreams always wake me with a horrid fright
Running, running, running but staying in one place
It’s as though I am stuck and will never win the race

Oh, how I wish I could dream of happier things to come
Instead of trying to get away from these things in which I run
I am mentally exhausted and need a good sleep
I feel like a bag of bones lying down in one large heap

There is always tomorrow I constantly say
I need some help-so I begin to pray
Dear Lord, help me make this pain go away
If you do, once I fall asleep, I know I will be okay
Tomas Denson Jan 2015
Tightened skin stretched around burning sockets
dry eyes that want nothing more then to weep
staring at non existent patterns of the ceiling
trying to decipher something
anything
to bring release, blessed unconsciousness
to float away for a time and timeless
to not exist
nothing
until time to wake again to face this hateful world
torn full of words and screaming to be heard
only to rush to another endless night
to lay alone with the voices
and wish desperately
to sleep
tortuously the weary mind tired beyond comprehension
is denied this most basic of escapes from life
seemingly trapped here in this stale
empty bed that reflects
waking life.

Send me out to the emptiness between galaxies
and let me sleep forever in the cold dark
peace.
Ameliorate Aug 2018
Another week is done and little has been accomplished
It seems lately I only exist to eat, I’ve barely left the house
Sleepless nights filled with scrambled egg thoughts of a time which doesn’t exist any longer, served up on a plate come breakfast time
My new home although filled with animals, holds no resemblance to what we had built together
The home I finally deserved left desiccated come springtime’s-battle with mental health
The cats although great company do not replace the steady hum of your computer fans
The rhythm of your breathing knowing you were somewhere close in proximity
Weekends brought a time when we felt whole
6 am memories releasing silent fountains of tears do not bring us back together
Hours passing can’t erase the 4 months it’s been since you left me
Or the wintertime when everything had been perfectly comfortable
No, our love left me with a void of blankness impossible to just shake away
Entirely unforgiving feelings, grieving for every kind word you ever said
Id be lying if I didn’t miss you.
Sara Nov 2012
Your smile weeps softly lit whispers
and your fingers entangle through my hair,
slowly blistering my scalp with false memories
of someone who
used to hold me
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
Sara Dec 2012
Dead skin and dirt under crescent shaped keratin claws
I'll take a shower- fix the problem, but
Sin isn’t grime, and pain isn’t filth
and the lines on my arms
aren’t a map
directing you anywhere
but you’ll trace them from my wrists to my eyes and you’ll
wonder
Ashley Mar 2013
Sleepless nights
I wake up often
No reason to be seen
It just happens

I wake up in darkness
No sight to use
I feel panic rise
I know this experience well

I wake up in fear
The darkness scares
What could be there,
Scare me the most

I never got over it
The fear of darkness
The fear of what could be
The uncertainty of it all

Take deep breaths
Pull the sheets up
Cover my face and head
Keep feet unexposed

It doesn't help usually
Turn a light on
Make sure door is shut tight
Turn TV on for sound

Fall asleep
Wake up
Turn off light and TV
Go back to sleep.

The cycle starts again
Initially asleep
Wake up
Fear
Idonotexist Jun 2014
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes

the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me

Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me

I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
Su-Ling Wong Jun 2010
Lose to sleeplessness, deux
There will be no feeling of cold air
against skin of aged crisis patients tonight.

Complimentary hotel pillows flirt with tousled hair
legs contort a new posture,
paused and underdevelopment.

Guilt for the same ghosts
hiding in curtains, consuming every night

Eyes jolted open, finding it hard to swallow.
Loss myself to sleeplessness, trois.

Words exchange with invisible monsters
in hopes for a means to this end.

Belligerence takes over,
the fight lost.

Lose you to sleeplessness, quatre.

We forget to exhaleand
expel our drugs onto the floor.
© Su-Ling Wong, 2010
gray rain May 2016
I'm awake all night
I'm awake all day
the restlessness won't go away

They think I'm worried
but I'm not
my thoughts are just tied in knots

confusion lingers in early hours
and continues 'til it's late
As my body starts to abate

The inability to sleep is killing
So I sit and write with ink
And caffeine in my drink

Music playing loud
and I'm waiting to be found
and sleep in silent sound
Ben Feb 2012
as i sit here awake
waiting for some comfort
only received by those
who venture into the
depths that the night offers
delusions of peace
and visions of grace
cloud my weary mind
yet do nothing to ease
my troubled heart
is there any truth
to be had from my restless vigil?
i - a sentinel of the moon
i - a watcher of the shadows
i - an eloquent fool
am driven to seek
a respite from the waking world
by staying the hand of
the sandman in hopes that
these mountainous mole hills
may shrink under my gaze
futile? it may be so
yet dreams that may keep my company
scare me more than any
insomnia induced hallucination
ryn Sep 2014
Sun up till sun down
Trapped in a perpetual frown
Moon comes then she goes
Drops free fall from my nose

Waking hours in the daylight
Aimless motions; clumsy, puppet-like
Waking hours in the night
Uncomfortable in my own skin and psych

Sleeplessness be my companion
Restlessness be my actions
Despondence be my demon
Crest fallen be my reason

Frantically sifting through my head
Vertically upright or supine in bed
Compartmentalising might be key
To fend off self inflicted insanity

Desperation hangs overhead; ripe and bruised
Excuses upon excuses ridiculously overused
Furiously typing before my mind curds
Hopes of finding peace in these unspoken words
Darkness is upon me... Please excuse my rantings
rained-on parade Apr 2015
Sleeplessness is a lonely kingdom.

I could promise myself discipline with the daylight,
but what if I told you that I lied under the moonlight?
Sinners never sleep,
sinners never sleep.

They lie awake and talk
with the wings of Gabriel.
They don't shut their eyes;
there are stories in the picture houses of their own.
Of lie and deciet.
And guilt and anguish.

They'll never sleep.

They'll howl with the night
and forget why they were meant
to darken their hearts to match the sky.

They'll never glow. They'll never beat.
I'll never sleep. I'll never sleep again.
From a sad pathetic journal entry. 16th April 2015, 1.59a.m.
Aron Oct 2014
Here I am, awake and consumed by my thoughts of you.
Yes, you!
You should be proud because you're driving me crazy.
You're the only one that has ever done this to me,
so you can consider this as an achievement.
Well done.
Now, there's only one thing for you to do
and that is to accept my love for you.
Can you at least do that for me?
*please?
insomia
Jordan Frances Apr 2014
The amount of nicotine I ingest
Is more than enough
To send a small child
Into a lengthy coma.

Although it helps me relax
For but a moment
As I take them by the pack
Chain smoking just has a way
Of sending a person down.

Passing out is a means of sleep
But when all you do is shake
And your heart may as well burst
Is it worth the risk
And the headache that forms shortly after
The buzz wears off?

Absolutely.
Jay Cooper Nov 2014
She couldn’t sleep so she wrote
Of her abiding love for him
Forever and a day she wrote
On white paper with a pen
Words like infinity
Undying, unrelenting desires
Efflorescence, epochal, perpetual and ambiance
She says love is like a flower
It changes the mood of a space
By its fragrance
And it lasts forever
Never giving up as it
Continuously blooms
Knowing no measure
She didn’t fall asleep till after midnight
And loved him all the while she wrote
Dreaming of flowers, eternity, time and space
Urban Mar 2016
outside winds whisper
the damp night yearns for the dawn
sleep hides between thoughts
lagoli Oct 2015
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S D S Apr 2013
Sleeplessness might be a curse
More hours should be a blessing
I cannot find joy in madness
Sleeplessness is sane-less-ness
Insanity turns to absence
The void in my eyes alarms
Notice bring stress and tension
I'm too wound-up to sleep
I'm a snake eating its own tail
I should visit the pharmacy but
I rush to get home instead
Too tired to do anything
Too tired to fall asleep
Insomnia is a cruel mistress
Terry Collett Apr 2014
Evening. It is the close of day. You draw the curtains across the windows of the apartment. The red curtains you bought recently, the colour having attracted you in the shop. You stand and gaze at them; with the finger and thumb of your right hand, you feel the quality of the fabric. Leonard had not liked them when he came, said they were gaudy, made the place look like brothel. He should know, you muse, bringing the fabric to your face, rubbing it against your cheek. Leonard had this terrible habit of thinking his opinion mattered more than yours, more than any others did. As if God, if he existed, had granted him a deeper insight into things than you or anyone else. You imagine him now, that thin moustache, those pale white cheeks, that nose, and those peering eyes. People were surprised when you began going out with him; surprised that you would go out with his sort. Whatever would your parents say, people said. You did not intend to marry him, at least not yet. Maybe one day if no one else turned up, if no other man came along who was willing to take you on. You release the curtains, go to the drinks cabinet and pour yourself a scotch. You sip it, let the scotch flow slowly down your throat, feel the sensation as it reaches your stomach. A warm inner glow begins as you walk to the gramophone, put on a jazz record. You close your eyes for a moment, sip at your scotch, hear the saxophone begin a solo. Leonard hates jazz, says it for the uneducated. Snob, you think, opening your eyes, walking to the sofa where you sit and gaze around the room. He is a snob, you know, but he has other qualities, qualities that outweigh his defects. His ****** prowess for one thing, his ability to spend money on you while out somewhere are both good qualities you feel. You sigh. Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so good in bed, then you wouldn’t miss him on evenings like this, when you know he won’t be coming around. Friday evenings he has chess night. Chess of all things. Moving pieces across a board, when he could be moving you across the bed, you muse. You sip the scotch again. Let the rim of the glass rest on you lower lip. You drain the remaining scotch; get up to pour another. Evening. Night. Morning, they follow so predictably. But evenings are your favourite part of the day. You hate mornings, they are too sudden, too fresh, too expectant. Like selfish children. Waiting there with all their expectations. Nights tended to be dragged out. The time when you couldn’t sleep and would lay twisting and turning, thinking about everything under the proverbial sun. Unless Leonard stays the night, but he seldom does. Goes before that. Has his fill and off he goes leaving you to your night and sleeplessness. Evening is the best part, you muse, listening by the drinks cabinet, as a trumpet goes wild in solo. You feel like dancing wildly, feel like you want to spin and twirl, and throw out your arms and toss back your head as those dancers do you’ve seen. You put down the scotch on the arm of the sofa and kick off your shoes. You begin to dance to the music, let your body unwind, feel your body become alive to the pulse of the jazz, your arms out about you, the hands gesturing like some wild animal. If Leonard were here now he would shake his head and be tut-tuting. But you don’t care because he isn’t here. Just you and the boys in the jazz band on the record. You wish they were here in person. Over in the corner of the room playing their music, watching you dance like some crazy dame. Perhaps they’d expect you to perform, expect you do more than dance. You don’t care; you don’t give a fig. At least you’d have *** and not a boring evening sitting boozing and listening to jazz records. You stop dancing and look around the room. Evening. Just you and the record and scotch. What a combination. ***. You wish you could purchase *** in a bottle like scotch. A pint of *** please. Yes, the tall one with the biceps. You laugh weakly. You sit down on the sofa, sip the scotch. Drain it. Put down the glass on the arm of the sofa. You remember the evenings you became so frustrated with the lack of *** that you were tempted to go out and grab the nearest available man, but you didn’t; too dangerous, especially around where your apartment is. You sigh deeply. All this thinking about ***. You sip the scotch. The saxophone begins a slow solo. The sound makes you feel like *******, slowly, piece by piece, until you are down to the last item and then you would stand up naked and embrace yourself. The sound of the saxophone. The evening. The rising desire to be held, touched, kissed. Where are you Leonard, you louse? You mutter loudly over the saxophone. You begin to unbutton your blouse. Button by button, pretending it is someone else’s fingers doing it. You gaze at the fingers, lick them, imaging Leonard’s face as you lick. You remove the blouse; undo the bra. You stand and unzip the skirt, let it fall to the floor. You stand there in you underwear, letting your fingers take hold of the top and slowly as if other fingers than yours were removing them over your hips. You remove them and drop them on the sofa. Naked. Evening. No Leonard. The pianist begins his slow solo. You embrace yourself, kiss your arm, kiss it and kiss it. Imagine it is another you are kissing. You close your eyes. Evening. You walk to the light switch and turn off the lights. Darkness, you and jazz. You must make love to your self. Love in that way your parents would never understand. Evening. You. Jazz. Solo. Aloneness.
A LONELY WOMAN IS PORTRAYED IN THIS PROSE POEM. COMPOSED IN 2009.
D Conors Jul 2010
i can no longer understand how now,
this sleeplessness at night,
when the world is waking in other places
so far away from me,
to the ethereal powders of the breeze,
that paints the morning with its poetry,
as the phantom of the love i love,
causes me to awaken with a cry.

It's going to rain, rain, it's going to rain,
those sleek-silver drops will take me back again,
to those cobbled, winding streets,
the raucous, song-filled pubs,
and the green, the green, the red-brick,
granite and oh! the green,
the steaming Earl Grey tea,
of which i love with a yearning need,
waiting, waiting for me,
on that precious island on the sea.
D. Conors
c. June 1992
Azurel Nov 2018
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion

He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Found poem from The Great Gatsby
Joyce May 2012
When, instead of cozying in bed
I wander out there with Kerouac,
Imagining that I am Kerouac
Or some slave who walks upright;
Or a priest without a crowd
With hands and feet tied.
When, instead of snoring like hell,
I am left unimaginative by some;
I am making disgusting Love with shadows unknown
And remain pinned against the wall.
I am some nine year old senile who wets her bed
in fear and disbelief.
Lights flicker and then fade
And the switch becomes a button pressed to send
Someone in raving comfort.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
Even when night becomes noon.
Nightmares haunt me no more but I
Am left haunted by my bed.
Sheets crumpled by tossing and turning.
My bed does not recognize my warmth.
Voice recordings and constant tweetings
Pump blood to my Über active head.
Sleepless nights are well received as my body
Succumbs to sleep.
I live in a different world with five hundred other names
And the ten thousand other Me’s are all in disarray.

(And when the clock chimes at one, two, three ‘til way down six,
There’s a carnival of sorts with hair strands flailing like
Seven sets of arms.)

I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And wetting my bed is not a Sin.
I am sinful beyond recognition, as my bed is my witness.
I have had different beds
But to me, they’re all the same.
Some, soft; others, too hard
Or covered in satin, exaggerated by the moonlight. Some, made of wood
While others, with tight springs.
Water’s absurd but so is steel.
Double padding, triple linings, four feet, at times, none;
There’s the car, the guest room, the floor, hospital bed,
A seat next to a complete stranger ---
I make my bed before sleeping
And leave it when I’m done.
I am not a stranger to sleepless nights
And I jump on the bed at midnight.
I am not a stranger to morning tides and the morning shows on TV.
I’m not a stranger at all, no,
And when I sleep, I sleep in peace.
Stranger things have happened
Noons and sudden weekends are no way sleep - inducing; I am left believing
That nights and days dance in my
Sleeplessness.
Ricky J Jan 2017
Not a crumb ingested today, but simply a diet of chemistry materials and caffeine for at breakfast, lunch and tea.

My body's a temple that's been the dumping ground of old junk

I feel like was a temple but is now full lf broken clocks that faintly ticks.

I lay there before bed, maddening thoughts toapple my restful position, either chaos or sleep will ensue, it just depends on which way the devil plays his hand.

******, , so the devil has played an ace,there wont be rest tonight.
lionness Oct 2018
i.
this life has been led
in a hundred different directions
by a hundred different shepards
but you
were able to show
a lamb
how to walk
like a lion.

ii.
how sweet power tasted.

iii.
the night that i met you,
after a lifetime
of running from
darkness,
you said
"sweet child,
rest.
take your shoes off.
stay a while."
i let out a long sigh
of relief, my legs
tired, eyes blurry from
sleeplessness, judgement
clouded, i mistook you
for light, i stayed
by your side until
you took the last lick
of me i had left,
stole the sun from the sky,
stomped out the last
burning ember that remained
from what was once a forest fire

i left with nothing

footprints in
debris and ash

absence
where life once was
Hoping, dreaming,
Wishing, praying,
Fasting, petitioning,
Crying, weeping.

A hundred days,
Bygone.

Hoping we could once more see your face,
As impossible as it sounds,
Dreaming, that someone, somewhere, some place,
Finally finds you, and that you're at last home bound.

A hundred days,
Of excruciating pain.

Wishing against the logic of the world,
That you're still fine, and you'll fall into my arms once again,
Praying to God, gods, goddesses, deities of the world,
That even if you're not lost forever, you're still okay, not in pain.

A hundred days,
Of sleeplessness.

Fasting, maybe not because we believe it'll help,
But food does not replenish anymore,
Petitioning to the saints above,
To ask the angels to hold you, forevermore.

A hundred days,
Of yearning.

Crying for that solace only closure brings,
That somehow its not a conspiracy and that the truth is revealed.
Weeping for every single person, every heartbroken family,
Who's dreams and aspirations lay now buried, concealed.

A hundred days,
Of timeless sadness.

They say time heals,
The say it will get better,
But nothing can better what we feel,
Not even time.

A hundred days,
Without conclusion.
A tribute to the passengers and families of the passengers of the missing plane, MH370. The 15th of June marks the 100th day when the plane was lost from radar, painfully coinciding with Father's Day. To all children who have lost their fathers, and fathers who have lost their children, our deepest condolences. Nothing could ever take away the pain, but reassurance that the plane is finally found, crashed or landed. Something. anything, just news that could bring closure.
Circa 1994 May 2015
Sometimes you get me stuck.
And the words we add to the equation
Only serve to dig me deeper in the dangerous swell of my unabridged mind.

Sometimes I need you to be selfless
And let me sleep instead
of playing the victim of our relationship before bed.
We don't think rationally
When the halo of sleep sinks down onto our head.
JS CARIE Jun 2018
My love for you, endures everlasting sleeplessness,
your head to my chest lays the final stick
to my fruitwood nest
your scent will cultivate
a woodland stream
in a single sense of clarity
can comfort this body
this profound beauty you possess,
extends a distinct paralyzing permanence over my fateful transience,
our afternoon of initiation,
impart transcendence over all other days spent,
in a hats off, upper hand revolution, unsurpassed
My highest conceit ranks leagues above
as I give my resolve in contented surrender
Quiet but true serenade, to the one single living goddess who changed my life and gave her wisdom, body, and presence to me. Little Stephi Anne, my heart, my gardener and chef, my conscience, my baby, my future.  A massive hole left, the universe can not fill.
Dougie Simps Jul 2014
I place my wildest dreams in a system where I can contain
To avoid judgement in a world full people to name
As I learn to drop my pride and forget my fears
I'm still afraid of a woman, I can't name that I'd love to get near
Time ticks so why waste minutes on a bad trip
Of allowing your mind to go and travel through all the bullish
Of evil that tries to deciet you as you drop down to the lords knees
Keep attracting princesses when it's a queen that you truly need
Would you die for peace?
Bleed to survive?
Take the answers off another's test or actually try?
Why lie?
We all creatures of a bad habit
I tend to carry baggage
Still kinda afraid of average
Just felt I needed to express through this hallow pen
To The Lord is the simplicity of my minor thoughts in which I'm tryna send
Please don't resent
Honesty, the truth
Pain doesn't come unless you allow the pain inside you
Whatcha tryna do?
Will fight for what you believe ?
Will she love me unconditionally?
You promised me you wouldn't leave.
My imagination has grown but first it had to die
The terror of the nightmares
The sleeplessness of a lie
Release what you have inside.
I promise it'll set you free
Take a look at your blueprints
Before you go and try to fix me.
Blindfolded knowledge
Billy May Feb 2015
For ***** sake, why the hell am I awake?
The clock strikes past twelve in many leaps and bounds.
I lay here with out a sound, desperately throwing my self at sleep.
Reasonably speaking, I'm being tormented by the secrets I am keeping.
Weaken the divide between sanity and my reality.
Exams in short time, all I can do is work out line after line.
Something in my soul is aching, fabric of gravity is breaking.
I'm floating away on my daydreams of peace and tranquility.
Listening for when it’s said you’ve lost that ability.
I just want to lose my mind in solitude, don’t be pained its not my intention to be rude.
So voices between my ears, expound no more fears.
It’s of small concern, every flaw you can discern.
Brain ill punish you, ill trip you and trick you, hold my breath until I'm blue.
Collaborating with my heart and spirit to break down walls we toiled hard to build.
No sleep for me.
My mind is filled.
Often, when I’ve escaped the strain,
The weight, the freight, burdening encumbrance
Of human society, community unleashed,
Profound distress, and a bit on the side—
I’ll contemplate
Of their judgements unknown,
Their penetrating, presumptuous eyes—
They tell me they love me, reputation irrelevant,
Trespasses, failures, habits—all disregarded,
And still I laze in my quaking of
Sleeplessness from apprehension
Pondering their thoughts obscured by their words
Heavens, a shrieking invasion!

Please don’t take that as the slightest indication
That I’m in any case a half-benevolent essence of them all
My ruminations drenched with a display of myself, my actions, my appearance
That’s proof enough that I can’t occupy a moment without me as the focal point
How can anyone be so vain
Low self-esteem shall consume my life, my breath,
And all of those thoughts,
So soon to drain...
Lucy Ryan Dec 2015
waking
newly human
strange and soft;
pinpricks, feelings -
the crawlings around inside you
shiver as your skin becomes real

a nightlight for daytime sleeplessness
carry the seas inside yourself
like people:
walking barefoot
drinking sunstreams
and braving the dark red nights

hark, choir voices, still
slurring miss you discrepancies
howls in empty skies
wolves die

a misunderstanding of your insides
bones
more sand than rock
crumble at a press too hard

on this,
last day of your first life
hung on a boy’s fingers
the edge of a cliff
taste the water in your nerve endings dragging you home
you splinter,
and you rise -

when the bruise blooms, you shine

— The End —