every night ends the same.
my heart soaked, spilling out the seams with emotions I don't even know the name of; I'm trying to wring it out on paper and in longing texts I regret in the sunlight but it doesn't drain. my eyes fight to stay open and I'm aching to catch something worthwhile from the drops of jumbled sentences (that mean well but are too frantic to convey anything meaningful) drip drip dripping off my tongue. I haven't written anything pretty, haunting, that means something besides I don't know what else to say in weeks.
I like to call it insomnia because writer's block wouldn't be as well-received, but then when people give me advice, drugs, and stories I can't say my mind won't let me sleep because I can't cage my thoughts on paper.
it's a ocean, a roaring waterfall that never sleeps and I'm getting too familiar with the way the early-morning light streams through my curtains. schedules keep the ground stable under my feet but my mind never follows one (and maybe that's why it terrifies me so much). wave after wave of feelings too tangled to straighten into letters and the clock is screaming 2:47 am at me and I am so TIRED of being tired.
so when I say "couldn't sleep",
think couldn't stop thinking.
(the dark is saturated with novels I'm longing to devour but the way shadows pool between the pages makes it hard to read. I'm trying I'm trying I'm trying
to sleep.)
YOU ARE READING
open letters to no one
Poetrypoems I can't keep to myself. things to get off my chest with verbs, nouns, adjectives. life lessons I have no one to share with. texts I really should send but don't have the courage to. things I can't say aloud. in essence, words I want to scream...
