the joys of self inflicted insomnia.
all work and no play makes jack a something something.
At what cost?
What is the price of wisdom?
This depends on the value of sanity,
you can’t feel the pain,
the pressure on the brain,
the numbness prevents the profanity.
Closing my eyes lifts the pressure.
I wish I could close off my mind.
My wick’s burnt at both ends,
Sleep’s like a lost friend.
I just never seem to have time.
Into the next day I stumble,
my fluro hummms through the night.
The sun glazes the hill,
I’ve run out of zeal,
but I still have to face the daylight.