Pressure points in my head,
you know just the right buttons to press.
Demons crawling under my bed,
500 count sheets to shield me I guess.
Callous ensconced heart,
no more songs plucked from its' cords.
Sunday morning lark,
singing songs needless of words.
Round and round forevermore.
I'll never be what I once was before.
It's maddening it is.
Meaningless.