May 22, 2012
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Pitching and tossing,
I find no comfort in my bed.

Words and ideas tumble in my head,
Pleading to be brought to life.

Pictures storm in my mind,
And my hand itches for a pen.

Eyes exhausted and drooping,
But a mind buzzing and quivering.

Red lights boast of time,
Taunting and ruthless.

Creativity is a gift and a curse.
In the form of compassionless insomnia.

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