Insomnia

I stare up at the dark ceiling as

The television watches and

Mutters softly in the early

Morning air. The wind howls

Outside the window, the sheets

Rustle with the movement of my

Feet. I silently will myself to sleep,

to fall into oblivion for a

Little while longer.

I am more trusting with my eyes

Closed.

Rosy pink light filters through

The shutters, turning shadows

Into familiar objects once more.

The TV screen flips commercials

Until the news anchor greets the

Room with a good morning.

The ceiling turns white before me

As the night slowly loses its hold.

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