Restlessness

The time is midnight and the tone

of my muscles lets my bones

fall together in a heap

desperately craving sleep.

My mind weary and at ease,

in love with this one moments' peace,

but it knows just all too well

any thought could raise a hell.

Therefore I refuse to think

and my minds' reflections shrink

till my focus is turned off.

Only then is it enough.

But, of course, there is a trail

that insists it will prevail

showing symptoms like disease

when I need a full release.

It's a wound infected which

makes me ache and throb and itch.

There's no mark upon my skin,

but the sea of pus within.

Therefore I will toss and turn

as a picture glows and burns

with a flame that seems in vane

in the darkness of my brain.