I fight the nightmares,
Each night.
Sleep comes and goes,
Like a streetlight.

Writing is my true escape,
Once a lightbulb goes off,
I chase these thoughts in my head,
When I can't seem,
to go to bed.

Late nights,
Faint yellow glow,
Of my nightlight,
On my little wooden table.  
Soft Grey pj's,
Seeming to sink,
In my weight.
All these thoughts,
They link,
Making these poems,
Late at night,
I have no fright.

For--
Once I write,
I feel free.
Finally light enough,
To breath.

Finally free enough,
To fly.
Not scared.
Not anxious.
Not sad.
Not mad.
All things let loose.

the faint glow,
Turns dark.
The noise,
Slows.
And sleep comes,
And then it repeats,
As night turns to day,
sleep goes.