Insomniac

An ecstasy, at times, this imagination of mine... but more often than not, it's just the circles beneath my eyes, like a shiner brighter from this phantom fighter that deludes and eludes my desperation for sleep. A chronic habit wrapped in my blanket so deep, wishing the silence of the night would just be enough to sleep... Instead of speak. And talk, and roll over, retort... and resuscitate each waring waking thought! Until eventually I'm screaming for some peace to be had... but alas it's just not as simple as that? And I'll toss and turn and squirm hoping I can exert these empty words from my mind, but there's just no solution to find... only to watch the clock and count the time.