Diary of an Insomniac

It is four o’clock in the morning

And I do not have to look at the glowing numbers beside me to know the time.

Every night, it is the same routine:

Close my eyes, try to sleep, and wake up even more exhausted.

And tonight, it is no different.

 

It is four-ten in the morning.

My ceiling stares at me -

Mocking my pathetic efforts to escape;

Mimicking the back of my eyelids;

A temptress to the slumber that is teasing me.

 

It is four-twenty in the morning.

My thoughts are too loud,

Drowning out any semblance of peace.

They run around, racing,

And I cannot keep up with them.

 

It is four-thirty in the morning.

But maybe there is a reason why I’m afraid to fall asleep.

Maybe I’m afraid not having a reason to wake up anymore.

 

It is four-forty in the morning.

And I realize that there is a very big difference between

Half past three at night

And four in the morning.

At half past three,

I still have hope for the dreams that I yearn for.

At four,

I develop a lust after my own sleep;

Begging my mind to quiet down-

Even if just for a moment.

 

It is four-fifty in the morning.

Tears roll down my cheeks and pool into my ears.

I’m so young, I shouldn’t be this tired.

I shouldn’t want this all to end.

 

The glowing numbers now turn to five

And all there is left to do

Is pray that the sun will rise

To relieve me from this waking nightmare

Before I choose to end it myself.

This poem is about: 
Me

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