Insomnia

The inky room glistens with the beams of the moon, casting an enticing disguise over the hellish solitude that is Insomnia. The world around me sleeps soundly, blissfully unaware of my anguish. Emptiness clouds the room like a thick fog. Silence fills my ears like mold. Bitterness stings at my eyes, neglected despair taking the form of shaky tears. My inability to sleep is a cruel prison cell, the key to this well-known secret hovering much higher then I could ever hope to reach. The typical person has the key to sleep dangling around their neck, easily accessible, unintentionally mocking. With all the pain that comes from this battle for my basic bodily need, one positive can be found. During these nights of seclusion is when my finest art is formed.