End Of The Night. Poem by Shelley Hornsby

I'm done with
Sitting here late into the night
Shivering, trembling from
A night of three thousand words
A flurry of scourge
That just divides my existence
Between the living and the dead.
And maybe you could forgive me
For thinking
Am I right in the head
Spending too many nights
And days
Agonising over a
Computer that somehow
Doesn't seem to spread my words
The way I like.
The way I want.
I'd like to beat them into shape,
Flippantly fling them out of the window
heavy as a brick
Exhilarated from the shattering sound
But, they don't behave do they.
Like children,
They rebel
Running crazily around inside my head
Dancing madly on the
Shocking white sheet of my electrical page.
And drat!
Once read,
I only desire to shred
To delete
To eliminate the ridiculous lines
That have plagued me instead.
But I can't
I know that
I'm just resigned to go on and on
Spending my nights
Just shivering here
While everyone sleeps soundlessly
in their snuggly warm beds.