Overwhelmed by the surplus
of thought and emotion. I wish to end
such feelings. Yet each time I do come near
stopping -
passing into the bliss
of sleep - they attack harder.
Driving away all strands
of sanity. Consuming me,
thoroughly: the good and bad,
till I am left
as nothing
but a shadow
of my body.
Alas shadows, are creatures
of the day, of the sun; come
nightfall my shadowy existence ceases, bringing peace
to me, with sweet silent sleep.
Each day, brand new, is one more
spent waiting
for two turns of th’clock.
That will, have time stop.