With this little sleep
Is it possible I'm still alive?
Thought after thought swirls through my consciousness
It makes me sick.
How many more times
Must I go through this... ten? Eleven?
I turn over, forcing my eyes shut
Why am I still up this late...
I can't stand it anymore
Want me to write what I'm thinking down? Fine.
All of the words in my head
Pour out in the form of ink
Across the paper
I finally sigh in relief
My eyes beginning to feel heavy once more
I realize maybe what I write can be my escape
And that is my last thought
As my head meets the pillow again.