Insomnia

What purpose does this hunger serve?
This restlessness that peels away hours of sleep.
Is it for good?
To keep me on my toes,
To save me from the dozy laurel-resting of the
Modern
British
Man?

I can't concieve anything worse than routine;
Alarm clock,
Good morning,
Lunch,
Deadlines,
Home,
Washing up,
Shit film,
Half-hearted sex.

But what do i know about anything.
Too old to be thought a child.
Too young for most adults not to treat me invisible.

This itch won't be scratched.

Is it everyone's duty to diminish ambition with age?
Maybe i just need to grow up.
Be thankful for what i have.
What do i have?
I don't know any more.