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