Another desperate four a.m.
up before the crow.
Who am I kidding, I never slept,
but no one has to know.
Under the sheet of morning
falls another sleepless slumber.
I used to have a count somewhere,
though, I fear too high the number.
Gripping to the pillow,
there are no tears in sight-
it’s a different kind of madness
when you don’t observe the night.
Nocturnal in the sense
that it’s not so ‘hip’ to be,
the ominous chains of insomnia
have seemed to one up me.
It has me walking around a stallion
with the spirit of a lamb.
It has me running though the streets
without the strength to stand.
Maybe soon I’ll collapse
and allowed to sleep forever
so I can stop opening the window
hoping for foul weather
Yet every looming morning
comes with the sun shining bright;
I suppose I’ll stay exhausted
until I am invited back by the night.