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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Insomnia

I did not sleep last night.
The sea flashed with lightning
and I shivered
in the electrical fires of the storm.
There was nowhere to go
in the shadows.
I laid on the hard rocks
clenched my arms,
wondered,
if death was a closet
without sleep.

Where you sat forever
recounting all the minutes
you lived,
until they died
their own individual deaths.
And you mourned
the funeral of each one,
the bad and beautiful things
of your life,
and yearned for innocence,
and death without dreams.

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