Insomnia

These eyes are bleak. They hang from smoke ring sockets,
Swinging pendulums that seek out the sinking wink out of dreaming.

They drag upon my chest; two stones dropped over mental bridges
Screaming deaf in endless plummet to an abyss,
Jibber jabber jibber flooding that voiding infinity bliss.

Swanky characters birth and rebirth,
Sucking consciousness into waking visions that plague focus and reality.
These eyes, that are so dangling from strings,
Weigh hard as anvils, stretching me.

I do long to pick up a knife,
And swiftly cut the ties, plunging me down in a bloody serenity dive.
Instead, I but sit, and wait. And wait. And wait
As a fish hovers neath waters,
Yearning for a sharp, daggering hook to cut through the lid
of the lake.

A mild, fleeting sting would do to end this wretched, light-yeared aching.
All the world be snuffed: insomnia is breath taking.

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