I've go no patience
for long winded essays
My mind is too busy solving
the 'homeless' problem to
care about 'interpreter of maladies'
Sleep and I are doing a complex tango,
either sleep comes too easily and I'm
sleeping 18 hours a day or I'm
at the other end, insomnia ftw
Last night when I face-planted
on my key board, I dreamt of you.
I cried into my arms, filled with an
overwhelming sense of irrational terror
I wish it was still Monday.
The dichotomy of feeling like you never left
doesn't mix well with knowing you're still not completely back.