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?
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Murmurs
Poetry❁ Freedom is allowing the crisp air to guide you through this forest we can call society. ❁