The moth loves the light, but wakes at night..I think they too are insomniacs as I lie in bed awaiting sleep. As words tumble from the ether to mind, and form streams that run into rivers, and rivers into seas. Words that take an unrestricted path, and break down mentally constructed dams. The mind becomes a conduit of chaos, of broken logic and other realms. Sleep is a distant dream as stream runs into stream, as neurons fire like cannons at their own destructive will.
The red-lit clock mocks my wakefulness as it points to three, and when it points to four, I am certain to be the only one awake.
As black sky turns to blue, the urgency increases. My body is weary, but my mind is not, and the dreary light brightens. Birds are singing, distant alarms are ringing. Car doors bang in the street and engines start, as I bury my face in my pillow. My night has become my day, and my day my night. Insomnia, an underestimated plight!
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