there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for;
twenty-four is a number I have come to dread.
I hate that I'm rolling around for hours and hours,
watching the colours shift across the sky
from one agonising hour to the other
when I'm trapped in this body, this brain, this mind,
this me.

i hate the fact that an empty echoing house
is all that I have to come back to
and that my worst nightmares
are my every day realities;
just me, awake, all day, all night,
all alone in this ******* world.

i hate that the warm body and warmer soul I want to make love to
in whose arms I want to spend every night -
wants nothing but return to the comfort of his own bed,
leaving me to battle another ****** night
with the demons that devour my brain.

i hate that for every twenty seconds of sleep I sneakily ******,
i'm made to pay through weeks of wakefullness
that settles heavily into my muscles and my bones
leaving me aching and restless, making survival
a struggle and not a goal.
I hate this.
there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for -
**i want to be awake for none at all.

They say the stars rarely come out in New York
But have you been over it, while sitting in an airplane?
New Yawks a galaxy
A galactic city named atrocity
Urging people to find themselves, and learn about themselves
Narcissistic like astrology  

New York rushes me
And brushes me
OFF
New York is so inspiring
But yet
My thoughts are stuck in traffic
And trust me
We have writers on every block

*** holes
That mock

The tapping of your shoe
As you try and try to hush a crowd
Just so that you could get through

We got news anchors talking about how somebody got shot
and sometimes you feel your spirit beggining to rot
Because you can't stop
Imagining bullets
Shooting In every angle
Just dipping into your wakefullness like lullabies
Once in the heart
Twice in the eyes

And three in each ear
It's like **** what you think, feel, see and hear

But It's next year and your still here
In the city where the sound of an ambulance
Can be your alarm
and with a stranger you'll sit arm to arm

So come camp out in Brooklyn under the bridge because your heart will know exactly where those lost ideas now live

Come take the subway and study the map
It'll let you know where to go to get all your inspiration back

And if all fails head to the flea market somewhere sorta creepy downtown
And get yourself a muse
She'll show you around.

quiet wakefullness
gradual, like the creeping dawn
a feeling of.. loss––why?
the taste of a dream on the tongue
the tears of a dream on the cheeks
a haunting, fleeting memory
a girl? a warrior?
a protector? the loss of a friend  
death, life, spiralling
mental hands grasping at threads
slipping, drifting away
too soon, too soon
the wish to claw back into the dream world
eyes tight shut, forcing
forcing sleep, inability
gates closed to the woken
yet it was there
for a moment, the full memory
the memory of a dream
fading to a brush; a light touch
trying, trying to remember
but now a mere dream of a dream
an impression, gone with the light

When wakefullness holds me captive,
stirring ceaselessly at 2AM,
I rest on memories of you,
on the spot you once lay,
on my bed.

If there is one thing
That I have learned
From my lack of health
It is that
I am more than my illness
I am more than my headaches
Or the room spinning around me
More than my unsteady steps
And crippling anxiety
I am more than all the noise
That echoes in my ears
And I am more than all the pain
I've felt for all these years
I am more than aching backs
And needles in my feet
I am more than dizziness
And more than lack of sleep
I am more than lights to bright
They hurt my eyes and head
I am more than wakefullness
When I go to bed
I am more than doctors
And medicines and pain
I am still someone inside
There's more that I contain