Insomnia

I'm beginning to think that I am brain dead. My mind just doesn't work the way that it used to. Almost as if it were going on strike. Who knows, maybe it is. Maybe, just maybe I have over worked my mind. My thoughts are being bunched up together, and are coming out as one. One giant stupid piece of nothing thought. It doesn't make sense. As if it would ever really make any sense. If not to me, then to no one. Today, of all days, I was able to burn the silly little poems, I wrote for him, just for him. The time I should have spent writing for myself, and letting me get my thoughts out of my body away from my soul. . . I wrote about him. He has been killing me all this time. All this time, I could have been okay, or at least pretty damn close to it, he took that perfect opportunity away from me. I had it at my grip. Ready to write it all out, and get myself back to feeling semi-happy with myself, and the work I have been putting in. I've been writing stupid, good for nothing poems, love notes to and for him. Some of which, he would have never seen. And now, as I sit here, I can finally put that fucking name to my insomnia.