—
Insomnia by Nicole Plantier
Sleep
—
won't come.
it
I'm so weary tossing, twisting, tied taut,
by
fetters
of
sweat-drenched thought.
I
throw off the
sheet,
rearrange, again
again
.
.
Time does
.
again.
not wait
for the search.
The
night grows weary with me,
alongside a twisted, distorted clock.
Always forward, forward never stopping, no looking backimpossible machine.
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