Sometimes, the darkness is not my friend,
but pins me to my bed with heavy hands.
We become uneasy companions
on a stormy sea—
the rest of the world sailing
smoothly on dreams.
Something about the night revels
in picking through my mind like a
filing cabinet—no method to the madness.
Sometimes I ask,
"Why will you not let me go?"
Sometimes the night answers:
"Because these hours are not your own to control."
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 6:01 AM UTC
Sometimes, the darkness is not my friend,
but pins me to my bed with heavy hands.
We become uneasy companions
on a stormy sea—
the rest of the world sailing
smoothly on dreams.
Something about the night revels
in picking through my mind like a
filing cabinet—no method to the madness.
Sometimes I ask,
"Why will you not let me go?"
Sometimes the night answers:
"Because these hours are not your own to control."
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