A mind that taunts one
thousand thoughts in the thick layers of the night.
What is it that brings this mis-timed
mind into the daylight hours
when the moon still catches-light?
Visions of binging fingers
continuously grazing the
palette of yours.
Imposter, frauded and fooling
those of who I am not.
What can this rest bring that
I cannot reach during the day?
Why must I sleep when it does nothing
but pass the day into days,
counting and reshuffling, forcing
me to move on?
I hear in them my fighting thoughts.
Oh how I miss your face.
Oh how I miss your voice.
Oh how I love you so.
And how alone and cold the weeknights and ends are.