Writer’s Room: Sleepy

Daniella Amendola, Editor-in-Chief

Another day, another hour,

Tipping the glass on its head.

I wait, I waited, breath bated,

For tonight, for tomorrow,

For a piece of peace of mind.


If the sands pour faster,

And it doesn’t end in disaster,

I will wake up from my daze

And find cicadas screeching

Perpetually behind my eyes.


I wait, I waited, my time’s spent.

I wished it away, sold it to a beast

Who gobbled up my peace of mind,

All of my time, all of my youth,

For what?