When Insomniacs Write Letters

A poem for the sleepless ones

When insomniacs write letters

Blood the color of night bleeds through their pens.

The sanctuary they crave is replaced with liquid swirls

Scrawled incoherently across pale blue lines.

‘Maybe tonight’, they say.

It’s quarter to 10.

 

When insomniacs write letters

They are regifting what they have been given

In the form of sweet lullabies that don’t put them to sleep anymore.

They write to their evasive mistresses

The ones that elude their poems in the daylight

And fail to hear sweet whispers any other time.

Quarter to 12.

 

When insomniacs write letters

They realize their fleeting childhood innocence

Has been given to the sickening moon.

What was once so enrapturing

Now a long continuous ferris wheel ride

To carry them up and over one thought and onto the next.

Quarter to 3.

 

When insomniacs write letters

They proclaim the pink leaking into the sky

Is the blood reddening their cheeks once more.

A powder to feed their starving souls.

Maybe this morning

At quarter to 6

Sleep will accompany their aching forms.

Reviews

[Dushyant Patni]

Oh Insomnia, thou art a heartless b***h.
You've managed to capture the essence of sleeplessness very effectively. Your imagery and structure is some of the best I've seen on this site.
I really like how you've built the poem around the constant staring at the clock which is an insomniacs curse. Also, the crazy wanderings and flitting of a mind which is craving sleep is not easy to convey, but you've made a good attempt, almost like a Chuck Palahniuk monologue.
Adding this to my library. Keep up the good work! :)