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Poetry inspired by The Beatles for The Beatles Musical Extravaganza. |
| Fun fact: I'm an insomniac of the highest degree when I hit the sack. Turnin' and tossin' without a wink to give or a snore to escape. My dreams keep me awake and my bed is a shitshow of unintentional mistakes. Tried to count all the sheep but they're dead. The wool's been shorn. I am a mess. Pillows suffocate my sleep, choking and I wish I were joking. I'm old woke. How do I fight this off? I dunno. Nothing's on TV. No one answers their phones. It's me all alone to determine my fate. The bat is in my hand as I step to the plate. Strike one, strike two, strike three but I'm never called out and I never fall asleep. I'm tired and tattered. Nothing matters. Nightmares happen as soon as I hit the mattress. I overthink my overthinking, scattering my scattered thoughts across the fruited plains. I'm so tired that my tired is tired but it's wired and fully firing. I cannot unawake, I'm serious. No closer to sleep than I am deliriums. Almost ready, on the verge to snap. If it comes down to it, I will stab you for a nap. |
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