I don’t choose really,

only experience a midnight travesty

keeps me

wakeful

I found myself again

bartering choice

wonder me a kindly story

while I let the pain of scattered eyes

wander through the twilight mystique.

I am a sole survivor wishing

safe passage,

while the world rocks slowly around me,

not alert,

yet wakeful.

I know there is a real diagnosis,

those that lay awake,

yet I am not that person,

instead my affliction, my drawing reality,

choice

I suppose I am afraid of the next hour.