Poem: Up Way Too Late

Oh, look at the time.

Gone again—back again.

Late nights are the day for me.

I haven’t seen much of the sun.

I can’t understand why—but sleep is not my friend.

It does not take me.

Does not nurture me.

I go in and stay…

Only because it courts madness the alternative.

But, even I must concede…

The time is already 5.

And that’s not in the afternoon.

And my body could use a rest.

Even if I don’t much feel like giving it that.

Because besides sleep—I have too much to do.

Words to write.

So many, layered and piled.

The editing alone is going to take years.

But, I’ve seen the other side of sleep deprivation.

And it leads to dreams without closing eyes.

Exhaustion like a sickness.

Death while living.

At some level, consciousness is energy.

And, I must go take rest.

Even if I do not wish to waste the time.

Even if it would be so much better…

To not need such a blissful thing…

For which I never had much time nor patience.

Special thanks to: Bob GerkinCollin PearmanDylan AlexanderJerry Banfield, and Michael The Comic Nerd. 

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