Cheers to Insomnia


The probability of mind at rest before you took the last conscious breathing is less. But there can always be silent nights in the middle of a troubled mind. What can probabilities do to a paranoid?

I submit to insomia. The rest of the lazy fear of sleeping is a very senile disease. I ache on keeping myself awake while the other side of this brain sings a lullabye. Not much on prose, but much on a simplistic difficulty of expressing an ironic and ultra-contradicting argument.

To fathom and hope that one day I shall surrender to my bed with arms open, at a much earlier point in time before the sun catches my stubborn eyes.

Yet to think of how did I start this post. At what instance and level of motivation? How do I drop the last lines? Paranoia and insomnia. This eats your youth. This wastes your wasted time. I do hope that some recycled matter crops after.

Goodbye is a coincidence of will. Another sad awakenings before you decide to force, threat and intimidate yourself again to sleep. And upon a successful sleep you will somehow feel awake. And the waste is recycled. And what crops up after? That's for my final analysis. The conclusion is yet to be drawn.

Or so.


About this entry