It’s four o’ seven in the morning
And I’m tired yet adamantly awake
My window of opportunity
For a sound and peaceful sleep
Having made itself available hours ago
When I chose to ignore it
And I am now left alone
To bask in the hours of nothing
Which could have been spent dreaming
Could have served as a provision
For another happy day

Instead I am half-conscious
An exhausted insomniac
An oxymoron
A zombie