Inspiration

Sleep evades me.
My mind far too busy to rest.
I dream when I wake.
I’m awake when I should be
Dreaming.

The clock says 3 a.m.
The perfect hour for a writer.
Somewhere dangerously
Between loss and lust.
Between anger and joy.
It hits me all of a sudden.

It pours out of me like
An exploding volcano.
The pain and the tears.
The sadness and fears.
Thoughts of her and them.
Thoughts of you and him.
It’s all there, ready to melt
Into the journal.

My pen marking the pages,
In a frenzied pace.
These thoughts lie
on crumpled paper on the floor.

I feel better now,
Having written them out.
Free even.
Until tonight.
When inspiration hits again.