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Literature Text
Insomnia
It's like a darkness in my mind.
Irony is writing this in the semi-darkness at 2am, with no idea what this pen-meets-paper love affair will look like until the sunlight (or my alarm) clatters through my crusty eyed, half formed sorry excuse of a sleep, a drunk slopping and sprawling onto the streets when day time is calling.
The world is set to 5% brightness, the twilight of hours-meant-for-sleep glittering shades of grey I never knew existed; even when I close my eyes it doesn't stop, a puppet show for those lucky enough to still be conscious.
I'm too tired to stay awake. I'm too tired to sleep. Paradoxes are fun, huh? The insomniacs' purgatory, my worst nightmare (ha)…
*
What's stopping my slumber? Maybe the Sandman got delayed, a tide lapping lazily at his feet. Or kidnapped perhaps.
No.
Sadness runs through me, depression roaring softly in my ear, pulling me back from the brink of dreamland with a whisper every time I try to enter, as though something awful lurking in my wardrobe is waiting for me on the other side.
It's a tiredness that crawls into every fibre, a lethargic gnome gone fishin'. A tiredness where I can feel the weight of every part of my body – my face feels like it's melting, fingers and palms scrabble frantically to hold it in place. Unhappiness jades lightning-quick across my limbic system: I am alone on the stage right clock face, a follow spot staring me down as every mistake I ever made rips tsunami tides across my consciousness. Stage fright grips me; my hands no longer scrabble, instead they cradle my face like some grotesque spider web floating on a paper-white breeze. Eyes gaze out, two glass-blue icebergs drowning in hollow black pits.
Eyes that are heavy too. Heavy, and cold, even when they have their lids to cocoon them.
Lid.
If only shutting my eyes was so easy, like closing a box or like flipping a switch. On. Off. Power down. Just sleep
(have you ever tried putting a light on when your eyes want to sleep?)
(my brain seems permanently power up, washing sweet memories over me in one instance, the next crashing fears, doubts, worries into a colourless crescendo of waves. Maybe tonight they'll finally rock me to sleep.)
It's like a darkness in my mind.
Irony is writing this in the semi-darkness at 2am, with no idea what this pen-meets-paper love affair will look like until the sunlight (or my alarm) clatters through my crusty eyed, half formed sorry excuse of a sleep, a drunk slopping and sprawling onto the streets when day time is calling.
The world is set to 5% brightness, the twilight of hours-meant-for-sleep glittering shades of grey I never knew existed; even when I close my eyes it doesn't stop, a puppet show for those lucky enough to still be conscious.
I'm too tired to stay awake. I'm too tired to sleep. Paradoxes are fun, huh? The insomniacs' purgatory, my worst nightmare (ha)…
*
What's stopping my slumber? Maybe the Sandman got delayed, a tide lapping lazily at his feet. Or kidnapped perhaps.
No.
Sadness runs through me, depression roaring softly in my ear, pulling me back from the brink of dreamland with a whisper every time I try to enter, as though something awful lurking in my wardrobe is waiting for me on the other side.
It's a tiredness that crawls into every fibre, a lethargic gnome gone fishin'. A tiredness where I can feel the weight of every part of my body – my face feels like it's melting, fingers and palms scrabble frantically to hold it in place. Unhappiness jades lightning-quick across my limbic system: I am alone on the stage right clock face, a follow spot staring me down as every mistake I ever made rips tsunami tides across my consciousness. Stage fright grips me; my hands no longer scrabble, instead they cradle my face like some grotesque spider web floating on a paper-white breeze. Eyes gaze out, two glass-blue icebergs drowning in hollow black pits.
Eyes that are heavy too. Heavy, and cold, even when they have their lids to cocoon them.
Lid.
If only shutting my eyes was so easy, like closing a box or like flipping a switch. On. Off. Power down. Just sleep
(have you ever tried putting a light on when your eyes want to sleep?)
(my brain seems permanently power up, washing sweet memories over me in one instance, the next crashing fears, doubts, worries into a colourless crescendo of waves. Maybe tonight they'll finally rock me to sleep.)
This is for the 
writing prompt "Art Prompt"
I chose this wonderful piece of work called "Insomnia" by =agnes-cecile ([link]) and tried to put myself in the position of the subject. It's just a little something I threw together over the course of today in between studying.
*
Some nights are more difficult than others.
writing prompt "Art Prompt"I chose this wonderful piece of work called "Insomnia" by =agnes-cecile ([link]) and tried to put myself in the position of the subject. It's just a little something I threw together over the course of today in between studying.
*
Some nights are more difficult than others.
© 2012 - 2024 InklingsOfOblivion
Comments15
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I love this type of writing, do you have anything to say as far as how you manage to write in that figurative/poetic way?