how i hate the
bogies and
daymares that
keep me from
sleep
loathe the cobwebbed interior
of my
telltale heart
on nights such as
these i
cry and
pray myself to
the shores of
slumber
crushed under the
weight of
my darker side
but joy cometh
the sense of
despair is a
necessity of
reality
if i cannot see
how far i’ve
fallen
i cannot fathom
the heights to which i
have been
lifted
and remain despondent
but joy cometh
after anguished
outbursts and
confessions of
fear
comes quiet
comes peace
comes sleep
and joy
cometh in the morning
