“Insomnia is a vertiginous lucidity that can convert
paradise itself into a place of
torture.” - Emil Cioran
Insomnia, oh
insomnia, a wakeful curse,
A lucidity that
pierces through the night's purse,
A vertiginous
descent into a hell of wake,
Where paradise
itself becomes a place of take.
The stars
above, they twinkle and they shine,
But bring no
rest, no peace, no slumber divine,
The mind races
on, a wild and endless ride,
As the body
suffers, tired and worn inside.
The sheets are
tangled, the pillow is wrong,
The mattress
sags, the bed is too long,
The room is
hot, the window's closed tight,
And still, the
mind refuses to take flight.
The clock ticks
on, the minutes crawl by,
The hours
stretch out, a never-ending sky,
The dawn
approaches, but no relief in sight,
The insomniac's
night, a endless plight.
Oh, for a few
hours of peaceful sleep,
To escape this
torment, this wakeful deep,
To find respite
from this lucid hell,
And let the
body and mind take their spell.
But alas, the
insomnia holds sway,
And paradise is
lost in endless gray,
A place of
torture, where dreams are few,
And
wakefulness, the only thing that's true.
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