Insomnia poem

by nourayasmine   Apr 19, 2022

No more


techniques left.

My mind threw all weapons
like a defeated soldier walking
to their captors with two surrendering
arms and a lowered,
exhausted head.

No more blaming it on
the timing. You and I had
years to fix each other.
The timing was perfect, but
we’re not. We’re far from perfect.

I’m broken and grief-stricken.
I’m PTSDing my way through life.
I’m scared to death, of
loneliness, of old photo albums,
of alleys that has the smell of
thyme, of the past.
I’m scared of myself.

No more denying it.
We’re irremediable.


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