A psychological torment,

Always waiting, next,

To be woken

By another silent midnight.

Then the hours

Begin to unravel leaving sleep

Miles away, only a thought

Out of reach.

It becomes every time,

No longer fantasy

Instead a restraint

Preventing peace

Allowing misery.

Though always they told me

A state of mind

My own doing.

Find my resolve to live life

In quiet abandon

Of ruthless conviction.

And then nighttime

Waiting upon another moon

To tell me

The cycle always begins.