That Which Takes the Dark


4 a.m., and sleep seemed a thing impossible.

The mottled face of the ceiling was like that of the moon,
pale and barren, and offering nothing.

His eyes moved to the orange strip of street-lamp glow
cast across the bedroom wall by the window.

He watched the steam from the sewer drains
wash and dance
like ripples across a mud puddle,
before once again glancing at the hands
of the Big Ben clock at his bed-side.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

It had made its appearance brief, and seemingly
had moved on, leaving him to yearn.

Now, he did yearn,
but attempted to stop, for he knew
such an act would yield nothing.


insomniac’s hell

never-ending drowsy limbo keeps me where I be
sweetened kiss of sunlight shows me what I ought to see
hazey state of empty sleep now holds me where I lay
I find it hard to keep in states that I would like to stay
shedding skin and breaking bones, scars laid in the past
twisting minds and spilling blood, wounds forever last
killing pain with crippled joints is what is left of me
ghoulish smiling demon grinning at my pain with glee
stop this hellish torture ride, I cannot see the end
feel the massive hand of God now hold me as I mend
sinking deep and deeper still and howling as I fall
no one seems to see me go or hear me as I call
and now I have to face the fact I know not where I go
nothing’s left to keep me from my fate which lies below