creak
crackle
pop
there are things in the night
hiding; waiting to bite.
watching there out of sight
for when the time is ripe…
slip
slither
hop
into my bed they crawl;
from the ceiling they fall;
evil, grimy and small;
horrific protocol.
fly
flutter
plop
under my skin they creep.
slipping inside my sleep.
finding my darkest deep,
and the secrets I keep.
worm
wriggle
rob
my skin is a shiver;
my mind all a quiver.
inside they have dinner
as deeper they slither.
hurt
hunger
stop!
how? why I am shouting?
my heart madly pounding,
I swear I was drowning!
each night is confounding…
creak
crackle
pop
those night sounds are still there;
goblins under my chair.
three-thirty and I stare
muttering an old prayer.
toss
turning
flop
Morpheus has left me
without a clue or key
black singularity
of my insanity.
I
surrender
drag myself from my bed.
nightmares still in my head
I am the living dead
oozing poems in my tread.
weep
worry
cry
there is nothing inside
the man I was has died
really I did I tried…
No. not really; I lied.
merlinspielen 
I love this! Seriously…good dude.
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Seasonal isolation makes for great prose, it seems.
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Or just ordinary nightmares and insomnia!
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But it’s a great time for writing. Apart from the wind howling outside. And other strange noises. This is great. And why is it always around the same time. 4 a.m. is mine.
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It is like clock-work! I used to fight it. But now that I am old and wise. Well old anyway…
I no longer fight it. I found it amusing your post of the day has a similar theme! 🙂
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And I’ve just answered your comment on mine! 🙂 A while back it was happening all the time. Less so now. Maybe because I don’t go to bed early in the first place. Night time writing is great though. 🙂
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Wonderfully put.
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Thanks so much! Appreciate the comment. This is what I do with my insomnia 🙂
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