Monday 2:17 (March 7, 2016)

Another night

Of broken sleep

And half formed poems

Fill my consciousness.

Silently

My body's protests

Are ignored

Once more.

As

The perpetual motion engine

My brain

Won't shut down.

Blink of the eye

My mind has leaped

From the past

To the present

And back

Again.

Without

Any temporal interruption

To my thought patterns.

As if

The very concept

Of a time continuity

Is meaningless.

With the blurring

Of time

Between night/day

Past/Present

And sleep/consciousness.

Know

This must stop

For the sake

Of my health

And sanity.

But

I feel

So powerless

To stop it.

Short of

A complete system

Failure.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For those, who are wondering, there is no religious significant to the title, beyond, I wrote it, on a Monday, and started it, at 2:17 am.