I know this isn't too great, like the poem says, your mind doesn't really focus if you're insomniac. Well, at least it doesn't for me, haha.


One seventeen in the morning,

Lights off,

Mind on.

Racing, running,

Everywhere and beyond,

In the wee hours of the day.

It’s an endless cycle,

Being up all night,

Day after day.

Not being able to feel refreshed,

At ease,

Or asleep.

It makes you nocturnal,

Except instead of sleeping in the day,

You don’t sleep at all.

It pulls every fiber of energy,

Out of your sleepless,

Exhausted body.

You’re tired.

You’re sleepy.

But you’re awake.

The End

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