Insomniac

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep.

They casted me away, in a land of unknowing darkness.

Judging looks, pursuing chaos rises inside of me.

They left me when I needed them most.

They left me when they knew of my sleepless nights.

I am that shadow covered by dark clouds

Trembling behind blankets of polyester.

Hoarse ambition, wavering echoes

Existing along a despairing society.

Sleeping is a curse to me

And I fail to rest under the light of black.

I yearn for attention, for help, and for comfort.

Yet, all I hear back from the sun is apathy.

I tire from these futile efforts

Brought about horrid expectations.

They expect so much from the shadow

But do not see its hanging skin beneath its eyes.

The world does not stop for the shadow.

The world does not stop for me.

But I am tired, and I want to stop.

I want to beg for a release that will never come.

Should I search for that release through others?

I want to, but some force of guilt holds me firm

Spewing its cyclothymic nature to an unbeknownst agony.

It curses me as much as sleep.