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It's eleven fifty, But I'm not sleepin, Cause Mr. Insomnia is working, Sneaking, creepin. I'm tryina get some rest, But I can't cease him. All of my buddies sleep. And I can't reach em. He's working hard tonight. Tonight's his field day. I won't be dozin off, Til about twelve thirty. But that's not my fault. I don't take blame for that. That's the work of Mr. Insomnia, And he don't take feedback. You can leave a complaint message, In his mailbox, But it won't get to him, Cause the thought tubes are stopped. They clogged with the thoughts, That I think in my head, When I'm lying around, Probably 'sposed to be in bed. But I can't hit the z's, If I feel that breeze. When Insomnia opens his windows, And my thoughts released. I can't really see my clock, It says around twelve ten now. So imma put my stuff away, And try to lay my head down. So peace to the people, That I know support me. And peace to the people, That I know care for me.
SilentBluemoon SilentBluemoon 36-40, F 2 Answers Nov 24, 2012 in Poetry

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I like that. thanks for posting it

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i still wouldn't fall asleeep after reading it.

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