Sleeplessness Stories

A short poem I wrote after arriving home late from a college night class.

The world has somehow forgotten what true love actually is ,but some people still wait for their lover . This poem truly signifies his pain when he awaits her to return in his life. No matter what happens , he'll always wait for her and someday she might return when she understands that he is still holding on to her !

-Moomintroll / male! Reader- Something I wrote since I was feeling particularly restless and figured writing out my emotions could help and could be something I share with you guys! I haven't written anything in a long time so forgive me if its a bit rusty! Also this is 2K19 Moomin

Note: The chapters are Very Short. Ohh and This is a short story. Consists of 10 Chapters. In order for me to write a second book with longer Chapters and all that, I Need inspiration from this Book. I wrote this Book to Find closure. This is the only thing that really helped me to move on. So please don't judge me or any of that. This book is about a boy who turned my World Upside down. A Boy whom I'd do literally anything for. A Boy whom I'd go an extra mile for without complementing. This Book is about a boy who Made me feel special once and Made me feel like Nothing the next minute. I was hurt. I was damaged. I was broken. I cried myself to sleep. I thought I could never stop loving him. So writing this Book Really helped me find closure.

When I'm stressed out I tend to think better when im wide awake at night. This is me. No bashing. If you dont like it, then stop reading and go to another story. Enjoy~

my insane dreams and slow desend into insomnia. in this story i share crazy dreams that ive had

My gentle thought for special her. It all belongs to you.

Each night I lay in pain and try to sleep but no matter how I try... my eyes just bleed these tears of mine.

When you can't sleep

A poem about a nightly visitor.

Just a really small story I was given as a challenge from my English teacher to only write with exactly 100 words. This story was written from personal experience. Enjoy.

This'll be a collection of Loki One-shots that I write whenever something comes to my mind, so definitely not regularly. The stories aren't really connected even if some may have similarities etc. ~I don't own the song I quoted in the first one-shot nor do I own any of the characters mentioned (except for the Lyrical I obviously, but yeah)~ (Also an Info about the first chapter: I know that the Movie-Loki/Tom Hiddleston doesn't have green eyes, but Comic-Loki does as far as I know and the song just reminded me of him.) I refer to Loki mainly as he/him or they/them, since they're genderfluid in the comics, but maybe there'll also be some stories where I'll refer to them as she/her or all (throughout the story changing) pronouns.

December 12 BLEATING FORMALITY Stupidity stalks me when I am tired, hijacking my mouth.  I can put this off to pilot error or interruption of service on my neurologic pipeline, but truly I have been captured by senseless, irrational muttonness.  I would love to say it was pigheadedness but, alas, I am not self-determined, I am a sheep.  I open my lips and out pours the same plaintive cry as the surrounding herd.  In addition, once begun, the wail is unending; it’s as if the bellows works on its own carrying a tune which blends with the entire wool-coated world.  I shift and run with my position according to the movements at large.  I am following the reactionary breed, dropping the specifics of my personality as one of the crowd; my brain is switched off and a quick veneer grows over my eyes.  I can’t see, think, or speak for myself and yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay.  When as a petulant three year old I do fall to sleep in my tracks, I wake as myself with many bleating apologies to be made. Put morbidity on a leash and never walk it alone. * Peter and I This flight is not filled with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight, but among the solemn children on this flight is Peter, the oldest of four, who is reading Tolkien and marking his place with a two page wish list. Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident.   I wonder if we are what we read and ponder if I am what I write. Poetry, stories, novels, declarations, it all feels like arms and legs, things I cannot move right without.   I live better when they are out and free. I am free too, when they live on their own and I am not their soul residence.   I have to rededicate myself to the work entrusted to me for so much living depend upon it.   Vlog:  http://youtu.be/pIxhPgXDifU   You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

For a friend. Because we all need more sleep.

I just feel so empty