Down in my bed in the solace of night
drops of rain from slumber keep me apart
and the warmth of the thick yet soft blanket
plays no hand in the freezing of my breath.
Impatient, the shadows of the hollow tree
branch out, tirelessly dancing with my eyes
on the wall lighted by the lone street lamp,
timid in it's work, until it dies out.
A stale taste weighs from under the skin,
rashing my thoughts, unpleasent it is.
In tempo, the drops still in my head drum,
the taste I can't get out, the pound I can't stop.
At unease I am, for thick is the dream.