Midnight.

The warning signs of an abridged, sleepless night.

The recollection of my humiliation.

My slow descent to madness.

My wretched fall from grace.

1 am.

My blue eyes smolder with invisible flames,

Begging me to close their hatches.

I comply but the scorching pain proceeds.

Lying stiller than a forgotten car in a junkyard, I pray for bliss.

2 am.

My head is spinning like cars racing around a track.

Thoughts explode before my consciousness and I can't picture anything else.

I writhe under my sheets as if I'm in a mental institution.

At this point, I'm wondering if I belong in one.

3 am.
Tears stream down my face, failing to douse the fires.

Echos from my past crash over me like waves.

I'm drowning in the dark.

To hold my breath would be a waste of time.

4 am.

I can feel the cold, unforgiving silence clawing its way into my bones.

The darkness ridicules my quest for tranquility.

Every time I think I’m slipping into slumber,

Purgatory strangles me until I stir.

5 am.

Every ounce of my perception is mute.

I’m more numb than a casualty on novocaine.

The counted sheep, huddled together like clouds, wisp away in the mocking wind.

Having lost faith in Mr. Sandman, I await Apollo’s Chariot.

6 am.

My alarm blares, enveloping the house in its obnoxious siren.

Groaning, I straighten my warped spine.

Flicking on the bedroom light, I admit defeat.

Unlike the rising sun, I dread the hours to follow.