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Tales of an Insomniac

by Maia DeLuca 4 years ago in sad poetry

I Come Alive in the Nighttime

Sometimes I don’t sleep at night

Sometimes read a book

Or maybe two

Sometimes I bundle up

And I go outside

I wander the narrow roads

As the faded yellow street lights

Dimly brighten the pitch-black sky

Sometimes I listen for the rustling of leaves

As the wind passes through them,

The rhythmic sound of a cricket’s chirp,

And the sound of my feet hitting the asphalt

Aimlessly, I roam

Until the early hours of the morning

I never know why

I try to fall asleep, I swear I do

Perhaps it’s my relentless mind

Protecting me from the darkness of my own subconscious

There used to be moments

When watching the sunrise would turn tired moments into pleasurable ones

As drowsy eyes would gaze at the beauty before them

Almost blinded by the bright pink and orange colours

Peeking through along the horizon

Such beauty does not affect me as much

Nor does it impress me anymore

Like most pleasures in life

Watching the sunrise loses its dreamlike thrill

Once it becomes a habit

sad poetry

Maia DeLuca

Read next: Sleep

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