I am insanely tired,
But onward to I travel
For fear of staying behind long enough
To really know what goes on.
Can you see it?
My eyes,
Can you see it in my eyes?
The days of lack of sleep,
Couldn't even sleep if I wanted to.
And I do want to.
But I rage, rage for sleep.
Like a forest fire,
I cannot be contained,
Just follow me
And let me put myself out.
It has been a tough morning, ya know,
Twelve poems all at once,
A splurge of words all forcing out of my mind,
Like the emptying of a barrel of wine,
And I am nearly empty.
Nearing the end of two hours
Of enchanted writing.
I cannot be dissuaded
To change my profession,
Why spend the rest of my life,
Sleepless,
And doing stuff I hate?
There is no point.
I'll be different.
I'll thrive in a job I love doing
And become hella tired from doing it,
Because it seems as if no one
Has done that before.
Everyone works at a job they hate,
And they bring the hate home with them,
Letting the hate ruin their family life,
And hate is never a family value.
(at least it shouldn't be).
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