The insomniac stays up all night,

To him, the world is always bright.

He doesn’t know how to feel,

Can’t tell the difference between counterfeit and real.

Faces blur and words melt,

A plethora of different feelings is felt.

There is no cruder torture than sleep deprivation,

Stay awake for a lifetime and experience the insomniac sensation.

Forward becomes up as he begins to stall,

Moving ahead doesn’t seem to happen, no progress made at all.

His body so tired, his eyes so sore,

He adds the number of hours the sun is up; a total of twenty-four.

The energy he gets isn’t free,

It comes from expensive coffee and ginseng tea.

He is the soapy surface on the wand that will never fly,

He’ll be dropped back inside a container, no matter how hard he’ll try.

He is the lint that is gathered and thrown around,

Buried in untouched places, never to be found.

His presence is unnoticed, like a snake he lurks and creeps,

There are traces of him some mornings, for the insomniac never sleeps.