I couldn’t sleep.
So tired, my bones drug the ground, making marks and grinding low,
my eyes so dark you couldn’t see past them,
limbs moving like I was a fly trapped on the paper.
But you wouldn’t know me then;
the last bits of my waking mind flickering and refusing to go out
like the last embers on a desperate smoker’s dying cigarette.
What you wouldn’t give to put me out of my misery,
if you’d ever seen such a pathetic thing before.
My eyes drifted towards the ceiling like I would find God
or some other form of salvation,
but you didn’t see me praying, because maybe that’s for someone
weaker than me.
Or maybe it’s someone worth saving.
Someone with better sense.
But I was in a drift, and you couldn’t see what I saw,
not that you would want to,
and all I wanted was to lay down and have a blank canvas
to paint my sorrows on,
but life isn’t fair and I’m not worthy,
so maybe it was a good thing
that I wasn’t sleeping
anyway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Briana benner you are very creative keep on writting