Somnolence
No sanity yet content,
my nights are better off spent.
Not dreaming of delusions that will never pass,
subjecting my heart made of glass.
Living on the brink of madness,
repeatedly setting myself up for sadness.
For once I'm certain of one thing,
I do not know what the future will bring.
Accepted that I can do no more for myself and one that I love,
memories of our lives are hard to speak of.
No tossing or turning in frustration,
rising out of bed with a wretched sensation.
There is no somnolence in my mind,
seeking peace that I'll probably never find.
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