Insomniatic
I’m always too wired to sleep,
The gnawing itch beneath my skin
Fighting the haze over my vision.
My body wins almost every time,
Yanking me into fevered dreams
That leave me nearly as exhausted
As when I stumbled into bed.
I barely have the energy
To whisper through each day.
It’s as though the more sleep I get,
The more I desperately need.
I’m reduced to little more
Than a whimpering ghost.
Invisible.
Ignored.
I choke on my own existence.
If it weren't me,
If I didn’t experience it daily,
I wouldn’t believe such an unlife
Could possibly be lived.
I don’t go anywhere.
Can’t, really.
Not because I’m bound,
But because the very idea
Of enjoying myself just once
Is horrifying.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
