sleepless

around and around and around it all spins

this vortex of you that sucks me in 

I think I've managed some damage control 

when yesterday's paper rocks all that I know 

I think that it's gone and buried real deep

then it's at the top of the heap

I start to falter and so does my faith 

I realize I'm slipping and in dire straights 

I write with anger trying to work it all out 

five hundred days of dissension and doubt 

you do not read me; no longer subscribe 

nothing is sacred and none of it jives

I won't speak the words that I want you to say 

I scrawl them in crimson--the same ole cliché 

West rises the sun and bleeds red across my sky 

and sleepless I write in the dead of the night

Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License