The Insomniac: Part 1

Look at him sitting there,
Black under his eyes,
Lost in his translucent stare.

Can’t even see the pad,
Yet he still writes.
He doesn’t care if his penmanship is bad

He just needs to let it out,
But it’s 4am,
So he can’t really shout,
Though I doubt he has the strength to anyway.

Instead, words just pour from his head,
Like a soul slipping from a body past dead.
But how,
Or why?

Why does he find a need to write when he feels like he’s about to die?
Go ahead ask him why.
It’s because of his desire to fly.
But the thoughts in his head weigh him down
He has to let them out before they cause him to drown

So instead of letting it out through a burst of rage,
The Insomniac empties the thoughts in his head through words on a page,
In a pursuit to find some peace of mind.
Even if it lasts only for a night,
He would still be thankful,
Cause at least it gives him a reason to write.

-The Insomniac

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