￼ Midnight came in restless huffs and the hoots of a bored owl. Too lazy to fly, the bird shrieked at halfhearted intervals rendering my sheep counting pointless. "T-wit!" it called. "T-wit!" It wasn't until I woke with a mouthful of pillow that I realised it had been taking the ****.
Her eyes veined red, wide with the mania only insomniacs know, she stumbles through another hazy morning. A pale vampire, a demoness of the dark, she snarls in a rabid baring of incisors. I back away. "Morning, love," I try. "Where's my coffee?" I open the curtains, whilst I can.
This never ending spiral Helter-skelter or egg timer Tipped, I plummet Flipped, I rise So easy to pour So much harder to stop Base greased and fast No grip for the wicked No eventuality given None wanted Unsure if the sun rises Or sets An over-easy egg mid-turn Burning in gold Simmering in saffron Hanging […]
Insomnia: writing whilst dreaming of sleep.
Feathered pillows never felt so hard.
Rain vibrating on tired, tiled roofs. Another night of sleepless thoughts. Food for the writer, A quiet time for imagination to run wild, And to an extent the truth. But the pen on on the bedside table lies invisible, The notebook eclipsed by moon shadow. Another sleepless night of semi-lucid nightmares, And forgotten productivity.