I.

A late night trip to the bathroom
shows a warped vision of myself
through a cracked mirror
it tells a story
through the dark circles
under my eyes.
It all tells me to sleep,
although that was already made clear
by my foggy mind and hazy vision.
I go back to bed
but when I close my eyes
I cannot see sleep in the future.
So instead I lay with my eyes open,
staring at the white ceiling.
It looks back at me,
harsh, unforgiving.
The storm outside
does nothing to help
quell the voices in my head.

II.

The voices in my head argue
and tell me that
everything is either all very clear
or a muddled swamp of metaphors.
And they have decided
my life is all one horrible metaphor
for childish infatuations
that could never be
that turn into a stronger feeling.
I tell them to try and be quiet
because I’m trying to sleep,
but they do not quiet.

III.

They do not quiet,
they never do.
Quiet is a warm hug
and space in my head.
Quiet is muted murmurs
creeping up stairs
and slipping through keyholes.
But they do silence.
Silence is deafening.
It lures and traps me in a cage
where I am unable to breathe.
It is a force that stops me
from being human,
it is all consuming.
That is why I let them stay,
because I prefer the chaotic cacophony
of voices
to silence.
They never stop.

IV.

Never stop dreaming
is what everyone says
but I think I did
when I stopped being able to sleep.
The clock blinks 4:32
and so maybe it’s more
early morning than late night,
but is there really a difference?
I’ve given up,
maybe I’ll sleep tomorrow night
instead.
And when they all ask
if I’m okay,
I’ll just tell them
it was a late night.

V.

It was a late night,
I was kept awake by
the voices in my head.
They do not quiet,
They never stop.
It was a late night.