some musings

Isn’t it so frustrating when you really want to sleep, but you just can’t? The other night, I’d been lying in bed feeling utterly disgruntled because I couldn’t sleep (this is what happens to me during holidays and I start sleeping really late and waking up at around 2 pm, which is really my fault) and in my head I started composing a poem – something I don’t normally do, but bear in mind that at 4 o’clock in the morning I doubt I was fully sane:

things I think about when I can’t sleep

sleep is a funny thing.
it’s the lover of the dreamer
devil to the drunk
conqueror of the drowsy
and claimer of the dead.

4 am.

cold feet
trying to pull the waves of haziness
closer to me but
they just lap at the shore tauntingly.

sleep is a funny thing.
all the possible angles on this bed I’ve tried
in a fit of desperation
seem like ill-fitting suits
driven into a state of sheer frustration
mind’s turning, wheeling.

tick-tock. tick-tock.
4:01 am.

cold floor, night air, ringing silence
I lie in wait.


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