Insomnia

Sunday:
No sleep,
Half alive.
Eyes closed at five.

Monday:
More of the same.
More mundane
loss of my brain.

Tuesday:
The harder you try,
The harder to die.
Square eyes? Mine are fucking cubes.

Thursday:
Things creeping
Over my skin.
Memories slipping, Wednesday forgotten.

Friday:
Buy some steak knives.
Saved some kid’s life.
The insignificance of night.

You don’t feel like crying
When you feel like you’re dying.
You don’t want to weep
When you just want to sleep.