Insomniac
Its 3 o’clock.
And the walls are telling me to sleep
But no luck
As my brain throbs like the bulls of Pamplona
Giving way to
Pretty, vacant wanderings through empty fields
To clear my head
Then the caffeine buzz at half six
And the bittersweet sting
Of revealing rays on my face
As the gloominess evaporates
And in the window my eyes shine blood red
Copyright © Robert Ptolemy | Year Posted 2009
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