Constructive crit is welcome, appreciated, and even encouraged. Here's the poem: ...And So I Sleep At Night
This wretched tingle
That bears itself upon my chest
And claws it's way
Around my back
And plants it's roots into my neck;
A solemn night
Whose somber moon does not rest
But fades to black
And torments my dreams
Without any sign of compassion or reck --
Thrashes about
Like wolves ripping fangs through dry flesh,
And presses itself
Through my temples,
Penetrating into my mind's deepest depths.
It winds till taut
My mind until each mesh
Becoming one
And the same
Filling my ego in it's breadth.
It is my grim reaper,
Driving it's pitchfork through the back of my skull;
My succubus,
Prying from my grip the very essence of my soul.
It creeps into my room
During the nights that are most quiet
And turns the tranquil moments
Into the most deafening silence.
A beast
That haunts with many faces in my dreams;
Whether writhes about
Like serpents
Or to my thoughts it clings,
It remains, unfaltering.
Within my conscience it gleams
Revisiting
With every moment
And every bit of pain it brings.
Hesitant I remain
To admit some things at times.
But what I hold
Is the key
To the safe-hold I've built in my mind.
A rotten truth
Lies within this pile of grime,
Yet I'm relieved
When I accept
That this monster is my Frankenstein.
And so I gain equilibrium
Allowing me my needed rest.
Eyelids gently caress each other
To the lullaby of melodic breaths,
And then I wake in early morning
Filled with life deep in my chest;
A vibrant world lies at my feet
And so this beast has met it's death.
