I am sleepless,
this fatigue
allows no relief.

I am weak,
impartial to either
slumber or activity.

I am awake
at ungodly hours,
while the world sleeps.

My thoughts are lucid
at the most
inappropriate times.

I am thinking
when I should
be at rest.

I am sleeping
when I could be

My clock,
is an aberration
of time.

Fear wakes at night,
thoughts I give no quarter during the day,
now weigh heavy.

in this anxiety,
I have forgotten what’s real.

I am sleepless,
I am fatigued,
I am awake

at ungodly hours.


We are storytellers,
drawing conclusions
from an assumed reality,
connecting dots from random characters,
who like to talk back.

We are fortune tellers,
predicting tomorrow,
with an over zealous confidence
that is prejudiced
and a caricature of yesterday.

Yet still, we are storytellers
filing our words under non-fiction,
where truth is reality,
dreams are dishonest,
and words are as dogmatic
as our thoughts

that we don’t know where they came from,
nor where they belong.