It’s another long and lonely sleepless night.

6 am and I see the sunlight.

Birds are chirping and all I can think about

is putting on a pot of coffee.

What’s the point of fighting

this mortal enemy of mine.

Sleep and I have never been friends.

Maybe this is a preview of how it will end.

Lack of sleep creates symptoms of madness

The writer behind the crickety wooden desk

typing feverishly away

slitting her wrist with synonyms.

Antagonizing over protagonists

and wondering where in all of this

does she fit in.

Madness comes in,

does seductive dances

like strippers on poles

legs wrapped around fantasies

turning me on

so that I can’t ever again turn it off

and I wonder if this is how it’s always going to be?

Always feeling the gnawing of

distractions from reality

suffering from manic marvel

writing

feeling the rush of life returning

from the well that I feared had been dried up.

Perhaps I should ride the wave and forget for a moment

that normal people have bed times

because really,

when it becomes time

I won’t be able to do anything more than to sleep.