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Jun 18, 2026
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Door swings open.
Clock says 7 p.m.
You're early.
Flame to cigarette.
You whisper lies.
Disguised as insight.
Exhale.
Your breath.
Coffee.
Bitter.
Clock says midnight.
You talked for hours.
Never said a thing.
We go to bed.
You're still talking.
Clock says 3 a.m.
Alarm clock screams.
Eyes open.
Sunlight hurts.
You're not in bed.
Clock says 7 a.m.
Get dressed. Eat. Leave.
You'll show up tonight.
You always do.
-Insomnia
— Whiskey and Ink (davidgambro31), Jun 18, 2026
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About This Poem
Last Few Words: My first attempt at writing staccato prose.
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction:
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Not actively editing
Critiques
Lavender
1 month 4 weeks ago
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Hello!
I like this form for the theme - I sense the frustration and anxiety, and the almost cold attitude toward the routine repeating itself. Been there a few times, as we all have.
Thank you!
Lavender
Whiskey and Ink
1 month 3 weeks ago
Hey, Lavender thanks for the…
Hey, Lavender thanks for the kind words. I write to connect so I love it when I write about something I've struggled with and some one reads it and goes "hey, I've been there"
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