Insomnia II

There's a limit to how long someone can suppress their emotions.
There's a limit to how stoic one can remain.
There's a limit to how long someone can stay awake.
There's a limit to how many times one can force their eyes closed.

There's a limit to how interesting the ceiling can be.
There's a limit to how comfortable the bed seems.
There's a limit to how much more of this I can take.
There's a limit to how much longer I can stand this madness.

Insomnia

Darkness surrounds me, the absence of light usually signifies that the body must rest. It is 1am. My alarm will go off in five hours and fifteen minutes and I will curse myself for not getting enough sleep.
It's not that I don't want to sleep, I am tired and want nothing more than to slip into a world where there is nothing to worry about.  My body will not rest.
I close my eyes, pulling my duvet around myself to try and lull my mind into believing that everything is alright, yet this does nothing.
I stare at the darkness between me and the ceiling, letting my mind wander in search of peace.
The distant drone of the traffic on the motorway keeps me grounded though, normally it's a constant comforting noise; signalling that all is in order out there. Tonight it is a distraction from the dreams I could be having.
It reminds me that regardless of what I want, the world will keep going and will cease to consider my wishes. That regardless of my troubles this planet will continue existing.
Maybe it's these thoughts that keep me from resting; this world is just reminding me that time will keep passing, whether I want it to or not.

Place Writing - 2nd draft

Sunlight too bright to see in, wind too sharp to keep my eyes open. Weather-worn benches slouch on the grass in perfect view of the skeletal fortress that is the soon-to-be-new building. Directly opposite it sits the oldest building on campus, the binary opposition of old and new with at least a decade in age difference. Trucks pass by, their diesel fumes attacking my nostrils and the roar of their engines mixing with the wind whipping around the benches. Leaves cling on with all their might as they are torn from the branches they call home, much like a child on their first day of school.

Compare that to the vast emptiness of the field beside them; where the feet of students from years gone by have stepped. Where goals and tries were scored, games won and lost year by year.
And standing on the edge of the field, like a silent guardian of this place, older than any of the buildings; a proud oak tree who's seen both the good and the bad of each year, yet still remains like it always has done. A symbol of time passing and a reminder of the past that is long forgotten.

This was one of those moments where you take in the world around you; the birds calling to one another, the whispering woods on the edge of the field and the distant rumbles of traffic passing by. A strangely secluded college yet it was alive with the sights and sounds of any inner-city school. The students were very vocal; hearty laughter, excited chatter, even the occasional scream could be heard from the driveway. The setting may have changed over time, the students may have come and go but the college kept its charm; a haven of learning and a social scene.

Dreams had been born within its walls, some more successful than others, lives had been altered throughout the years, not always for the better. This was a place that shaped a person one way or another, I didn’t realise it at first when I walked the winding maze of corridors on my first day. However one year on I can safely say that as a person I have grown. Sure it’s been scary, there have been days where my stomach has twisted into a tight knot just thinking about the tasks ahead of me. But I have survived so far. The sunlight that streaks through the windows of each classroom brings comfort to the worried souls, the wind that sucks the life from my body has taken my fear with it.

The bitter chill of winter, with its deathly silence, knocks at the door. Still it stands, just as the oak tree has stood; braving every winter for decades gone by and as it will stand for years to come. The suffocating blanket of snow that may arrive in the New Year will challenge those who inhabit the grounds to battle their way in. Another challenge, another battle, another standard day of a student.

Place writing

Written outside A block on a bench, it was very windy.

Sunlight too bright to see in. Weather-worn benches slouch on the grass in perfect view of the skeletal fortress that is the soon-to-be-new building. Directly opposite it sits the oldest building on campus, the binary opposition of old and new with at least a decade in age difference.
Compare that to the vast emptiness of the field beside them; where the feet of students from years gone by have stepped. Where goals and tries were scored, games won and lost year by year.
And standing on the edge of the field, like a silent guardian of this place, older than any of the buildings; a proud oak tree who's seen both the good and the bad of each year, yet still remains like it always has done. A symbol of time passing and a reminder of the past that is long forgotten.

Euphoria

(I am not entirely sure what I was doing with this, it just kinda happened.)

Euphoria - definition: mental and/or emotional state where the person experiences intense feelings of happiness, well-being, elation, excitement and joy.

Fast chords, heavy beats, high and low notes sung.
There won't be another night like it.
I won't forget how it felt to be there, barely inches away from those responsible for filling my life with happiness.

To feel at one with those around me.
Our combined love of those we hold so important.
Each for our own reasons but love all the same.
We pressed ourselves towards them, an intimate show for an intimate family.

No matter how terrible our singing, they smiled all the same.
We sang their songs back to them with every ounce of love that they gave us.

To me they are more than just six dudes in a band, they're dreamers and believers.
They do what they love and they gave me hope to do the same.
To not stop dreaming, to create and express the love they've let me experience.

And that is what I took away from that concert, a sense of love and the ambition to do what I love regardless of the obstacles.

A poem about death

A poem I wrote for a film competition, any thoughts on the last two lines would be appreciated as I'm not sure whether it fits or not...

A world where one person can kill us all
where millions die before nightfall.
The lives around us die in a flash
all reduced to rubble and ash.
Everything that we hold dear
will just simply disappear.
Burning flesh and toxic fumes
turns people's homes into tombs.
Imprinted shadows as a constant reminder
that the world should’ve been a little kinder.
If however we do persist
the world around us will cease to exist.