As we toss and we turn,
Our conscious adjourns.
Thoughts start to disfigure,
When closed eyelids flicker.
Memories of time gone distort,
Visions of future form and contort.
Within the mind we easily create,
Wondrous love and passionate hate.
We’re free to judge all we have been,
Even the parts that we hide, the deleted scenes.
Too enlighten our deep seeded sorrow,
Or darken our ever awaiting tomorrow.
Spoken in tenses past and present,
It may be nonsense or possibly relevant.
When we spin ourselves tall tales to fantasise,
Time as we know it so easily passes by.
When torturing ourselves with merciless power,  
Every minute feels like an hour.