Insomnia.

It’s ten to three; it really is late
And the stress of my job is beginning to grate
On my nerves. I haven’t slept in days
Despite the employment of methods and ways
Recommended to me from friends far and wide
Now the TV’s just quiz calls and my iPod has died
I’ve paced up and down and I’ve tried counting sheep
I’ve drunk steaming milk and I’m done feigning sleep
In an effort to fool my body into thinking it’s tired
I’ve tried my damned hardest but I’m just far too wired
My eyes are heavy and my limbs are sore
My feet are achy from pacing the floor
I’ve eaten my weight in hot toast and butter
I’ve called up all my night-owl friends for a natter
The bed, it just mocks me; my sleeping partner too
While he’s fast asleep I’m composing haiku
And writing out plans and drawing on faces
Of models in magazines and imagining places
I would like to be as opposed to here
On a sofa, wide awake, with the sun rising clear
Outside of the window – another sleepless night
I no longer appreciate the beauty of a sight
Like a morning’s sunrise – I’m just too damn knackered
Oh, fuck it – I’m just going to get battered.
As the beautiful licquor runs through my veins
I sense that sleep’s coming – no more tryin in vain
My head hits the pillow at six-thirty am
Just enough time to nap before work starts again
And so it continues on a destructive loop
The sleepless insomniac has given up hope.

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