Good Morning

Good morning! By good morning, I mean it’s a good thing that you made it through the night. The night is a liar. Maybe not. Sometimes I confuse my anxiety with the night, something like insomnia? Insomnia is the heaviest blanket that I just can’t move on my own. I might not even want it moved, it’s comfortable, soft, but so heavy. Help me. I’m alone, or maybe I’m not alone in which case I know where the liar is, it’s in my head. He, she, they are with me, or are me? All I see and hear is the time, TIK TOK TIK. Waste of time. I’m wasting my time. I should be sleeping, but all I can think about is the conversation with that person two years ago at the theater, whom I never saw again, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t forget about the most awkward moments of my life, regardless of how irrelevant they may be now. I’m wasting my time. Sleep sounds great, Sleep sounds absolutely impossible. I crave for the blanket to fall upon my eyes. At least then the weight would do some good, but I suppose it wouldn’t be insomnia than, just another lie. When it is time to wake up, I’ll be up alright, sleepless, dreamless, but awake. Isn’t that all that matters? Be on time. She was on time. Time is a trap. TIK TOK TIK. I push for one final attempt at a goodnight, but it’s too late. I’ve been greeted roughly with yet another awakening. Good morning.  

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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