Insomnia, II

this is what I wanted:

Now I shall measure my days by metrics

Of work, of though, of single strokes.

Now my body becomes the means

Of something larger than myself.

I cannot exist when I am at the front.

Instead, I am the even hours

That wile away the time.

What insane hours I have known

Inside myself, and now:

I'll push myself till I am bleeding

To hear those voices start to stop.