The Monster's Stolen Train
Three O'clock and Four O'clock..the thin veil hour. I awaken.
Back!  he busted in, not mistaken.

Who brought me into this realm between living. Draining every corner of the self.
Not reading books, they decay the shelf.

Sleep eludes each darkened rhyme, what is this hex of
ravel chime. The CHIME which blasts into awakened!
Heard it not within my bed. Cannot sleep. The soul of robbery
BOOMS  ahead!

Everyone within eyes closed. Pills won't fix this hellish pose.
I swallow them hoping soon to drop to numbness from my fog.

Recalling days of twelve hour sleep in the days of teen beat.
Long passed and changed, my ruined clock spins counter clockwise
and in demise.
SLEEP! A must as food and air to breathe leads me into misery seethe.

Sleep arrives vague and in shifts. An hour here and there. then AWAKE!
No reason, no banging noise, no one with me, not a bother in sight.
But the day sandwiches me between slumber and fight.

Lack of sleep can be used as a torture tactic. The pressing thoughts from here to there from nowhere.

No worries in nights, no frights I fight. Stolen sleep in scheme plight.

Longing the days of endless charge, pushing with thoughts in charge...
I know the insomniac's monster malice. Drinking, draining his evil
chalice.
Here he roars his energy train. Riding away, stolen sleep, into distant cold pounding rain.

© 10 days ago, Debra Ann Van Ness    fog • sleep • mystery • of • thief