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Insomniac

Rest easy

By Clifford KincaidPublished 6 months ago 1 min read

Sleep… what is sleep?

Right now, I don’t know.

Maybe someone else can go—

Go to sleep, of course.

I wish I could.

But I’m not tired.

Okay, I lied.

I am tired—

Just not the kind sleep fixes,

Or the kind that’s easy to cure.

I’m tired of the noise that loops in my brain,

Of the person I can’t seem to become,

Of the reasons I became who I am.

But what does sleep care?

Who needs it, I scream—

We all do.

So the pain might dull

For a few hours a night.

Maybe half a day—

If you’re lucky, you might get to stay.

Sleep—

If you have any mercy,

Let me dream.

Dream of what I can’t do,

Can’t fix, can’t reach,

Can’t even imagine clearly anymore.

I don’t know why I call to you,

Sleep.

You’ve never cared.

And besides—

I’m not tired.

I just want to sleep...

And for nobody to care.

Free Verseperformance poetryslam poetryMental Health

About the Creator

Clifford Kincaid

I am a father, I am a brother, I am a son, and I am your neighbor. I will be the one to set you free. I will be the one that allows you to breath. Love people.

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