Mellifluous Murmurs

Irony Is My Melody

It goes

then it comes

then it goes again

and comes once more.

I define insomnia

not as lack of sleep

or those who can't

reside in a deep hole,

but I find it an escape

to somewhere no one

can reach.

Maybe even glimpse the 

sight of the light.

I try to look through this bright,

yet dark shade that stands before me

but all I acknowledge is my share

for being an insomniac 

again, because the hole is plastered with light 

instead of the dark.

Isn't it ironic,

that everyone

everything

around us is what contradicts

ourselves as a whole?