Sometimes, the darkness is not my friend,
but pins me to my bed with heavy hands.

We become uneasy companions
on a stormy sea—
the rest of the world sailing
smoothly on dreams.

Something about the night revels
in picking through my mind like a
filing cabinet—no method to the madness.

Sometimes I ask,
"Why will you not let me go?"

Sometimes the night answers:
"Because these hours are not your own to control."