4 A.M. – POEM

onsomnia

 

4 A.M.

It’s 4am,

without the metronome of times hands,

Silent, light emitting diodes spit red, and my brains still wired,

So many thoughts, racing behind my eyelids,

A conscious knightmare, hoofprints gouging into the soft flesh of my psyche,

When will the race end?

A chaotic blend of memories and fresh ideas,

All furiously trying to get through a bottleneck,

Slowly my brain will digest them one at a time,

Intestinal thoughts, nourishing my mental state while under the guise of insomnia,

Raiding dreams, stealing shut eye,

Till no sleepy dust gathers around my bloodshot whites in the morning,

But the below offers a darkened patch,

Where lack of sleep is given away.

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