More Insomniatic Ramblings

The silence is deafening,

Throbbing.

Pounding.

A rhythmic beat of nothingness,

As a million thoughts flood my mind.

They come all at once,

Slamming violently against cranial walls,

and each other.

Desperate to be noticed,

Acknowledged.

From the mundane to the profound

Where are my pants?

What is my purpose?

And on and on.

I close my eyes,

tight.

And grit my teeth.

A futile forceful gesture.

With no tangible result.

And here we are,

Another night,

And still no sleep.

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I've always been a terrible sleeper. I can remember not being able to fall asleep when I was a little kid, maybe 4 or 5 and my father telling me to "just stop thinking." Do people actually do that? If so, who are these people? I've never been able to do that and that's what this poem is about - the constant flood of thoughts during a sleepless night.

Originally published on Medium.com