insomnia holds me, tight, lost lover.

the light of the moon
the glow of the stove light
the humming of rain
pitter patter on the ground
creating puddles
insomnia holds my hand
like we're lost lovers
he never says much
just that the world could be beautiful
that there should be more people trying to make it beautiful

that I could be one of those people
but instead I sit here writing poetry that will never matter and we hold hands and he stares at me like he's trying to answer a question I never asked him
the glow from the moon is dim, lighting up this room, as insomnia and I sit here
we blame the moon for me not being able to sleep.
we blame the hum of the rain
and the puddles it makes

The wind howls with whispers from broken hearts
The leaves whisper sweet nothings into the ear of anyone willing to listen.
we blame the bed for not being comfortable
The blame goes to the new tv show I started watching

blame goes to everything but my heavy mind, keeping my eyes wide and my heart still, the only movement my finger tips as they use this pen to transfer my thoughts to this piece of paper.