sleep comes most easily with draped limbs like closed curtains
with no room for sunlight to leak through
it is dark here, yes, but the sun has burnt out all the while
I was dreaming of no longer being a demanding lover

I've been gathering knowledge and longing to know whether most others brains have affected them so
Do you gather such speed in your inner review, of yourself and of others you see and speak to?
That one question comes and it leads to the next, and the next, and the next,
Till you couldn't explain in ten miles of small text.
Till you're ready for bed, though you've not moved at all, and search for distraction when sleep doesn't fall.
For still that old train rattles full steam ahead, though it slows down at times, it won't stop till you're dead.
I tell you dear reader, from what I have seen, the most beautiful souls have dark places they've been.
The makers of art and the singers of songs, creative folk found that before very long,
Something was amiss, masked by a smile, on mouths that spoke kindness and joked once a while,
But storms always yield the most radiant skies, and those who feel low reach the highest of highs.
A turbulent mind has excessive ideas. Beauty from turmoil, and art from our fears.

There are many fates which we can conceive
That easily prove to be worse than death.
The type of cruel doom most cannot believe,
The kind of affair which sharpens your breath.

You could succumb to plague, famine, or war,
All these atrocities, you would labor
For what may seem like an endless purview,
And all these nefarious blights, you'd rue.

You could feel regret for what might've been,
And solely dwell in memories of past,
Constantly question what you did, and when,
Think of why you went where you would hold fast.

Death's a luxury compared to the strain
That's inherent with life's shackling chains.