Insomnia is a strange thing.


It's 11:31.
Crazy Bitch is playing.
I should be asleep,
but in some sick way,
I'm starting to enjoy my random insomnia.
Maybe there's something wrong with me,
but I'd really like to believe otherwise.

I'm still kind of disbelieving that no one could read that
without crying.
Of course,
I guess no one else knew what was going to happen.
(You can thank my "friends" for that.)

This insomnia thing is strange.
It makes my creativity work better than normal,
but it never comes out in a good way.
I get violent when I can't sleep.
Then again …I'm kind of violent even when I'm sleeping.

Well what's the point in not being able to sleep
if you're not going to repeatedly try
(and fail)
to sleep?

a/n: Another one of those nights.
Referring to Looking for Alaska by John Green(e?) in the second stanza.