All I want is to sleep.
To shut sedated eyes and see
nothing but back of lids.
No dreams, no restless toss &
turning of a mind that doesn't
know, has never known peace.
Just to be able to place head
to pillow, and sigh a deep sigh
of contentment. Forty winks
ignored for the throbbing
of a head, heavy with thoughts.
Please, shut it off. Just make it
fucking stop! I cannot do this
anymore. Fuck the imagery of a
well-thought poem, the less is more rule,
and those that say fucking
is not poetic.
Depends on the position and
the way his name roars from
his inner beast to aching ears.
Besides,
Right now it's the only word
my muse connects to.
For example, I wish I could fucking sleep,
had the fucking energy to fucking
clean the house, play with kids,
and bake this fucking cake on my
list of to-do's that won't fucking
get done. You don't have to call it
poetic. I call it fucking venting
with a fetish for words;
like fuck you, and may you
get fucked today.
Adding your comment:
I cannot believe you said that! Just kiddin'. Seriously though, that don't help. I mean I love a good pin and fuck as much as the next woman, but it doesn't help me sleep. 
