Insomnia

Midnight and awake—again; almost a routine I am skeptical about, because at all hours of the day, why at midnight? The clock's hands hit the time— my insides weigh twice. A restless pendulum: a living I despise. Whispers with a cold ambience— I find both chaos and comfort. Mind's a fugitive, seeking escape and anticipation to then, next midnight, again, I'll no longer be in exhaustion.