The Bohemian and the Late-Sleepers:

"I find myself being troubled by non-existent troubles. These problems exist in the future and cannot harm me now. Regardless they do, cause I'm a Late-sleeper."

The Night:

Who knows where the stars have gone

Who knows where I can find them

My life is nonsense

My art is lifeless

My thoughts are bold

My ideas can shatter most

I'm a smart-a*s who's self-aware

I'm a walking paradox

I'm dead weight.

I make no sense

I just want my system to be cleansed

Let my thoughts run like wild rabbits

Let my sweet huntress come and dispose of them

She makes me happy for she takes my despair away

My Pacing is horrible

I don't know how to continue

This whole poem is a horrid experience

You all need fresh; something new

Crazy to think, that is late at night

I feel my heritage calling 

I can hear the moon crying

I am a bohemian soul

I am a Late-Sleeper.

Author's Note

Don't take this too seriously. Do take this seriously. Constructive criticism never hurt nobody, even if it's nonsense.