To be honest, I write my only poetry at night
It’s although it’s the only time my mind gets to think

From each daily working
The night offers a different kind of silence
A type of reflection
Or even a breath of fresh air

I lay awake until the early hours of the morning
Replaying scenarios, trying to control the future
But oh, what little control I have

So instead I lay here restless
Trapped within my thoughts
Trying to break free from the shackles of my reality
And then back to sleep once more to repeat another day