too many eyes make for insomnial mornings

spent three hours
trying to find
the sleep that came
so easily
at the beginning
of the night
tossing and turning
spiralling downward
through the things
i yearn
to simply forget
the three am
fugue of sins
that now drape
themselves over
my innocuous hell

i told the ceiling
every secret
the hidden truth
others seek in
my insipid lines
realizing how difficult
it is to sleep
when the inquisitive
tentacles scrape
the window
hoping to catch
a glimpse of
what is buried
in pedantic prose
hoping to find
a way to make
the ocean of words
lapping waves over
their desperate need

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