*Before you plunge into reading this poem, I shall start by saying this: it's long. Also, it's serious to me. I spent an entire day writing it and I know that some of my poems are dumpy, but this is not. I hope you can find it in your heart to realize what this poem means. If not, you're dense.
I'm running off of an hour of sleep a night.
Focus, focus, focus.
I can't, I'd rather be at home,
Snug in my blanket,
Watching TV, half asleep,
Hair a mess, cat by my side.
Listening to a lecture,
But not able to focus.
Everything the instructor says is not
Blah, blah, blah!
That's what it sounds like to me.
A droning mess of words
I don't understand because my mind
Is numb. Asleep. Coma.
To spend the rest of my days in a coma
Sounds too divine, too much like heaven.
Give my mind and body a rest,
Let my soul wander about.
Forever spend the rest of my life,
Eyes follow the contours of a hallucinated
Figure. A wild pony.
My subconscious gallops away
With pony, through the plains.
But my mind is wandering far away.
Creative, art, a genius in its own right.
I keep it on a leash,
Yank it back home,
Get back into the rhythm of the class.
My eyes burn, dry from having no sleep,
And they strain ever so hard
To read the instructors lips but all it is,
Is mute, so my ears fail me.
The sound of my own thinking
Drowns out the rest of the world.
Teacher weaving yarns
Into tales to tell.
Am I the only one nearly KO'd from
It ain't long now before
Exhaustion sets in.
I don't get a second win
And sleep will conquer me eventually.
The drug of no sleep
Tosses me back and forth
Here in the now,
Back in the then.
Reality. Virtual reality. Heaven and hell.
Each word I visit
On a different plane of existence,
Where I chill.
Eyes be watering something fierce.
Where has the luster of my life gone?
They are tears of fatigue.
I'm not thinking anymore,
Having convulsions by the light
Where I'll someday pass through but now,
I have seizures pulling me away from it.
Too thoughtless now.
I go with whatever force grasps
A hold of me.
Tossed and turned. Pushed and pulled.
Back into my world once more.
My world, not earth, barely a happy place.
Maniacal debris flows
Through my arteries.
I go to libraries and look up my work
Which has never been published,
But found a sleep journal.
Each page full of misery until the end
And then, all there is is lined pages.
I don't force a talent,
But here I am.
The core, the center of my very world
Is related to abandonment.
The end doesn't matter now
For the past catches up to me,
A race I have lost.
My subconscious world will be fertile
And full of beauty
Far after the earth is destroyed,
By war and the like.
God has dealt the hand of death to me
But I've a royal flush, same suit,
It feels like blech,
Who is god to kill me off of my own world?
Do I not belong here either? Lost?
I'm strong enough to survive the sleep.
Lacking it proves to be a tough talent,
But I'm damn fine,
Can dodge the problems
If need be.
I'll run circles around the destruction
Of Suge. My demise means nothing
As long as sleep is well in order.
I add my two cents
To get a couple of dollars back
To buy a pack of cigarettes, though I quit
Smoking 3 months ago.
I could revel in the nicotine,
Let it be my only friend,
Better to be the result
Of death by a friend
Rather than maimed by a stranger with
No name and no reason.
My sleep…am I asleep?
I am waiting, waiting for nothing but
I'm addicted to waiting,
They always made me wait.
And I think I wait for the
Or maybe just an end in particular.
Even in my dreams I am suffering.
Even in my sleep I am crying.
Even then, I see the dead faces,
I usually see them when I am awake
But I am so damn lost in sleep and
My subconscious world has devoured me,
In the flesh, which melts off my bones.
Dead, commonly, listening to
Mean brother listening to drug rock.
Dreams, dreams, dreams, but I am awake.
And I am crying.
No, not crying,
Something more powerful than crying.
Wailing, hysterics, bawling unreasonably loud.
Belligerent am I now.
Fully fighting with painted, tainted emotions
Of a ruined young woman, sobbing.
Nothing even makes sense now,
I know it never did before.
I sleep in my closet, exhibiting frustrations,
Ending on a thought I'll never finish
But will always dwell back on it when
Someone begins to preachify to me
About how wonderful life
Could be if I'd only open my eyes.
I'd rather let them remain nailed closed.
Why open them when I've finally
Obtained the sleep
I so hungrily sought out for?
It is in my sleep that my best work
No one will ever read it,
Everyone is so busy saying that
Poetry comes from the heart.
Well, that may be where it starts,
Most of my poetry is derived from my guts.
That's what it took to let it all be known.
Hear I am dropped,
In the middle of nowhere with
A map full of wrong turns.
It was blatant that I heed warnings.
I could be dead…
Like all of my beautiful friends
Who have passed before me.
I cannot cry, I will not cry, I do not want to cry
But I do anyway.
Slaughtered, murdered, killed, suicide,
It makes no sense of why
I get close to someone finally
And god decides to take them from me.
There have been too many deaths
Throughout the years, too many to count.
Too many years with too many deaths.
I'll never be able to sleep longer than
An hour each night
They come to me all the time to talk.
But I don't want to talk anymore,
Yet I still do.
I am expected to endure.
That's my lot in this dusty life.
I'll close my mind and just
Equivocate anything anyone asks.
I do not walk around,
In your world or mine,
Answering meaningless questions.
Something about the matter of living
Creeps me out;
Leaves me shamelessly worried.
Unlike my siblings,
Really meant to be here
When everybody else has passed on into shadows.
How can I have come this far
Believing that I have a purpose?
What if I am wrong?
Instead of them dying, what if it was meant to be me
Each and every time?
Why take meaning away from my life?
Some days, lately, a lot actually, I feel vacant,
Like a ghost town,
Triggering wonder to the masses.
How have I been able to live
Consciously in 2 reluctant worlds?
No one is ever there, waiting for me to wake up.
No one is ever wondering about me.
There will never be a lover who wakes up and says,
“Thank God Suge was born.”
I'll never hear that.
I look out the window to a quiet
Neighborhood and I lose myself
In severe wonder
Of whether or not I truly exist.
With all the pain I feel,
Maybe I have erased my existence somewhere
Along the lines.
I remember who I used to be,
Yes, I too was once happy, pleased by life.
I took grasp of opportunities and never
Squandered anything until death and dying
And pain and grief
Came thrashing into my life like a rabid animal,
Leaving scars to remember my long endurance
Of how I came to be this person. I am ashamed…
All I can see is death, all I remember is death.
Some things can change but not for me.
What is next?
How come I have no one to cry to?
How come no one walks into my room and
Hugs me, loves me, holds me like I need?
I get only sharp words that stab me deeply.
And that is where all of these scars come from.
How can I want to go on?
How can no one see me hurting?
How can they watch me and see nothing wrong?
How can they dismiss all of those deaths and think
That none of it has affected me?
When will the time come
For them to open their eyes
And see that I still suffer, from day one till now?
I'm so emotionally bruised
By a trusted brother who has turned on me,
And I cannot find anyone to take the empty void,
Fill it with what once was there.
Depression can kill but no one seems to care
If it were to take me.
Once he cried and was worried
That I would commit suicide but now
I think he wishes that I would do it…
I don't know…
How do I know anything?
How do I know I am not a lost soul
Wandering in an obtrusive lifestyle?
With all I've felt, I could be unconscious now.
I just don't know if I have flummoxed.
I just don't “get” what sleep has
Taken away from me in order for me to feel that
Everything in my life is a