On Expecting a Night of Poor Sleep

A poem for those insomnia thoughts.

The lonely alcoholic lies
staring at striped black ceiling,
wondering what could have been,
thoughts of what could be
no longer relevant, while
a lonely student grips drying cup
while watching lurching steps
and fatal smiles
and preening affectation.
"Yes, but they don't know what is in my heart,"
he says to no one in particular.