I used to write, and when I did this is what it sounded like.

I am a red insomnia
I am a self-imposed anti-drug
I am cavernous, lacking comfort as I tuck in the covers with chilled confrontation.
I itch in midnight hunger
I am emotionally insatiable
I am wrapped in strigiform wings and pinned by amber eyes.
I am one point acceptable, one word formidable and one hour from dawn
I ignore galaxies
and wait for the desertion of fear.