As I go throughout my day,
Tired, exhausted in every way.
I long to lay my head to rest
But work comes first, nonetheless.
My eyes are heavy from sleepless nights,
As I sit in this room with bright fluorescent lights.
I stare at the screen knowing there’s work to be done
But I don’t have the energy, not even for fun.
Time continues to slowly pass away.
Finally, I am able to finish my workday.
As I make my way home,
I drive slowly by the Superdome.
I open the door and crawl into bed
Then suddenly all the thoughts come rushing to my head.
I can’t make them stop
The only option, go to the couch and plop.
I’m no longer tired,
And though sleep is what I desired
I know my only choice now is to write.
I will probably sit here all throughout the night.
This is the life of a writer with insomnia.
Copyright October 2016