The Insomniac Diary
Day one passes into ten and twelve and eight-
Teen years spent by the neon glow of
Alarm clock stifled, the heavy hand, a fist
Trying to wake the awakened
But the sleepless cut the tongue, the wires
The life support system down in a blaze
Do not try to wake me when I have not slept
Scribbled down a diary entry on the back of
A calling card, a cigarette box, a prescription
Weighted down by a cup of thick black coffee
And the stale remnants of a Bloody Mary
The tick that follows tock which drives me to despair
Sat beside in thoughtlessness as I contemplate myself
The world and everything, nothing lies forgotten
Off the record, under the carpet, when you are an insomniac
You cannot sleep on anything and nothing lies dead
It just rebirths itself as you watch the minute tick
At the rate of a slothful hour, ticking and tocking
And checking the boxes, confirming, yes I have gone insane.
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