I stayed up hanging on the line last night
My eyeballs were putting up a terrible fight
With my lids defiant and the screen too bright
Skin so itchy in pyjamas, something wasn’t right

With the tablet scrolling, tapping black on grey
Skimming lousy fan fiction ‘til the break of day
Guilty pleasures to distract me from this state of play
Knowing all too well what he would have to say

I’ve been lounging round in bubble baths to help me snooze
With late night meditating, self-hypnosis, pills and booze
Relaxation seems an ever more elusive muse
Necking Nytol, chugging camomile but no good news

Been a long time now since I couldn’t sleep
Keeping busy, feeling dizzy ‘til the clock goes beep
Waking dreams so crammed with thoughts that slither dark and deep
Just keep walking through the daylight feeling ready to weep

When your brain won’t slow and your ears won’t close
And you’re feeling sort of coldy from your head to your toes
No hot toddy makes you noddy, as the restless grows
Squirming prone beneath the duvet in your sleeping clothes

But the minute you stretch to find your feet again
He starts complaining in his sleep and clutching at your hem
As his snoring fills your senses and you pray for REM
You’re still stuck playing teddy while you count to ten

Sick of sheep that wander wooly through your neural net
As you lie caught between ‘it’s bed-time’ and ‘not-breakfast-yet’
Swearing blue streaks in the curtains trying to forget
It’s been an hour since you last visited the cabinet

Essential oils to make you sleepy getting in your face
With the stink of lavender all over the place
Singing whales offend the cat but buy you no more grace
He steals the pillow, sprawling fur in every inch of space

When the sun comes sneaking through the soggy dawn
You’ve given up on any rest; just put your knickers on
Stumble downstairs grumbling looking pale and wan
Bag grabbed, you’re lurching to the bus stop with the zombie throng

One thought on “Insomniac

  1. Ah now that’s just it, isn’t it. For instance, what a devilishly cruel trick Bulgakov did play on poor dear Margarita. And after She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain by dutifully performing the queenly role at that (in)famous ball; and thereby securing for herself that hoped-for eternal bond of romantic passion with the Master, too. Yet that’s exactly where that very clever soviet satirist abandons her to such a fate – just when everything seemed so perfect. But what if we could insist that that playwright tell us more? What scenes would he present to us? What material could he use? Surely now Behemoth stubbornly refuses to play anymore with that ingenious animated chess set; nor take swan dives into pools over-filled with effervescent champagne while decked-out in very proper opera glasses and a fancy cravat, nor aid in any more Moscow variety black-magic shows. No, ol’ mischievous Behemoth’s only contents himself now with petty pillow-theft antics. And the Master, well, he’s certainly not losing any sleep of late over a new manuscript, nor endearingly picking up his beautiful Margarita’s discarded flowers in token of his love for her. Nope, its all about making good with that god of dreams Morpheus each night for him now. Poor Margarita. No wonder Bulgakov abandoned her where he did.

    Perhaps this is why Faust was so cruel to Gretchen after seducing her. Perhaps he wished to spare her such mundane future prospects . Perhaps because Goethe was more of a subjective thinker and less of an artist…. Ah, by now Ms Shirley, you may be asking yourself: ‘where in the bloody hell exactly am I going with all this nonsensical nonsense?’ Maybe, I suppose, I might venture to entertain the concept of what some thinkers call Repetition over/against habit for the existing individual. Indeed, I might then expound to great lengths that conceptual theory; but I believe already this very laborious comment is causing your lids to grow heavy, and therefore, before you finish this very run-on gramatically abhorred sentence, you’ll be shoving sheep aside and drifting off to the delightfully serene sounds of the sleep fairies’ charms. – My thought has that effect on most people you know 😉 and isn’t that, after all, what cures the insomniac?

    I do apologize for my poorly expressed thought about communicating on your ‘numb’ output. I meant WordPress as a whole seems rather uncommunicative, not you in particular. But, since I’m indeed a very foolish fellow I should think no one should ever take me too serious.

    Your ‘Joker’ output is very intriguing for such a short piece. Excellently done in my opinion. I’d say much more on that but no doubt I’ve over-stayed my welcome.

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