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This poem i made last night because it felt like i had insomnia at the time.

Sugar high.
Cant sleep.
Brain goes into overdrive.
Bedridden for hours wondering.
Wondering how long it will be till you are knocked out by the magic sleep powder.
Wondering if you should turn on the LCD electronic box that is on the other side of the cubic room that you reside in.
The eternal blackness of the earth, blocking you from the outside world.
Trapping you with the invisible and imaginary psycho killer from the depths of your cranium.
These special humans, troubled, with the eternal tragedy of the real definition of 24/7.
A psychological problem that anyone can get, and is a terror to rid.

Its my old "poem" from around 4 weeks ago.
Might as well write it down in the journal.

The jinx, a curse, and everyday illness.
Going throughout the world without being noticed.
Attacking the sick and the poor, but also the healthy and the wealthy.
The cure is everywhere, yet cannot be found.
The affected have feelings of dread and of death, of submission and suicide.
The sickness affects everyone and is declared sin.
It affects everywhere, in classrooms and hallways, in governments and capitals.
It is everywhere.
Many delay it, but they do not fully rid the disease.
There is a cure in this world, special to each individual.
Never the same for any two.
The rarest of flowers, or the purest of elixers.
But a diseased zombies eyes are covered of finding this, until they realize what there cure is.
There are always two choices. But there is always only one that is correct.
The hospitalized will find substitutes, but the real cure is not to far.


Everyone in the world has a choice, to live forever with the disease looking for the cure, or having it for the short time they need before the cure comes to them.