Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I write. Usually, it’s just words or phrases. The loops of information I’m struggling to process. The bits of information I haven’t finished thinking about. Current obsessions, and plaguing doubts. Whatever is going through my head really.
Sometimes it helps quell the spiral before I get stuck in it.
Sometimes the words are a mess, but tonight’s words tell a story.
He lived his life asleep.
Ambitious, yet ambivalent.
Eyes as heavy as his mind.
They take in less than they see.
Wanting to withdraw.
The excuse he tells himself.
Impersonal and corrupt.
The hardest to overcome.