. .
pinhole eyes                                                            
­    observe over your kindled lie                         
the spread of your inedible pattern
doctoring against the indelible darkness
              quilted climate of mediation   forms over your bed
wiring out your unfiltered horrors with gentle fluence
(the rental of ebb  and the menial of flow)
tapping metal   musician on the raw triggers                    
                         that fore-reign your vital psychology
the inks  the rigs  the tinkers   the shallows
the shadows  and score  that wink to us all    
from the blue night
                                    observed
              ­                                      pinhole eyes
. .
blue screen   onto the window of the night
stalked by the lonely boy            
          you widowed it all away
vagranted and volunteered away   all your daylight
gave up the tokens of family                        
schooling features and few friends
remaining ; an intelligence to pool fear
you take on the scientists
popping your dreams                                
                 to see if they spasm and scream
gutting their symmetry  blazing a ****
recovering only more symmetry
rummaging away with their simplicity
extending the corridor without sympathy
searching out the temple of it all
a deeper darker origin to answer to it all
. .
shakedown    plug right through the eyes
you were riding it for ecstatic life
made a corpse of it now
naked to the nerve   your teeth grown in
invited to savage your way out              
               venture through the gaper glass
information salvaged    wreckage retrieved
your markers picked up   the importance received
up to you/ the message :  "exist,  if you please"
. .

It is 3:00
And I am still awake.
I stare into the darkness
While others rest-
Like the dead.

It is 3:12
And I lie in a bed that isn't my own,
Questioning everything.
Why do I still have bad dreams?
Why can't I ever sleep?

It is 3:33
And time doesn't exist anymore.
The clock in the hall deafens my ears,
With its incessant ticking-
An endless tap in my skull.

It is 3:46
And not even my dog,
Is making a sound.
Am I the only one to live now?
What kind of purgatory have I fallen into?

It is 3:52
And my eyes are glued to this screen.
The world rests in peaceful slumber,
But all I do is tap out poems
That no one truly cares to read.

It is 4:03
Why am I still awake?
Because the memories I face in my sleep,
Are scarier than anything
That comes from under the bed.