This isn’t a poem.
I stay awake all night. It’s like a compulsion. The film I’m watching (Crash) is paused, like the film before it (Tsotsi) I keep pausing. I check my emails or look up poetry on the net. Or read. Or make tea. I’ve smoked so much I feel sick when I breathe deeply. I need to go to sleep but it’s like wringing the last desperate strips of nighttime out before giving up and going to bed. As if the daytime wasn’t enough.
