With miles to go before I sleep
and sounds around rise from the deep;
If I heard them should I keep
the memories from haunting?
And as the grey rolls into black
can you see white hiding in the back?
The foundation that lets us hold fast
and gives the hope to make it last.  
I see faces in the pages,
jumbled, between line spaces.
Hallucinations become engrained in
my vision
while I listen to the clack of chalk
scribbled,
spat from fingers,
and thoughts
dribbled.