outside the window. it's cold.
its getting so cold at night...
rubbing the sleep out of my eyes
but my bones didn't get any
dreams last night
instead I lay staring
into the scenery outside
and felt that usual nausea
when it was morning light

as all four seasons pass once more
i feel every flower bloom
and the winter aches and sores
and in summer the nights don't stay long
daylight wakes up early
But it never rises before me
then in spring the clock winds back
i think i know what they call me
an ...insomniac?

its cherry blossom season, its come once again
The buried bodies under them...
Their blood makes them ruby red
and my bottles of empty wine,
my sanity, my control,my medicine for the night
And i'll swallow myself sick
To take the loneliness away
Because in the night it hurts..
and the cruelty of lying alone;
well, it couldn't get much worse
There's something about how darkness fills the
gaps of emptiness more; it's thicker
somehow; the spaces between us


She's full moon once again
Luna, she's so pretty
Through these hazy darkened hours
She is my only company
But a part of her is always hidden away
Like all of us, in our own way
The moon likes secrets
And i've confessed all i can say
But hers...she keeps quiet
She's more of a listener, who patiently
provides the only light.
Night after endless night; she's the
one who waits by my side


'cause when it's time to close your eyes
my broken mind just cannot find
a dream to hold onto, and let me try
to give my tired organs a break from life
and theres voices screaming
But i'm beyond the point of feeling

if you feel you are losing your soul, then
you still have a soul left to lose
well for me my soul has no use! if life
your just barely existing
so exhausted you can't see, hear
or feel
you can't keep up with other's words
or try to plant your feet in their
world
a million veils away from the warm
hands of another
and if they grabbed mine then i'd hold so
tight their wrists would surely break
but i know with every night that passes
the further you slip away

The body; its immunity
It doesn't serve you well
All the prescriptions in the world
Can't save your mind from itself
with every night that passes
my mind cops another contusion
every slight glimmer of hope -
doctors, pills the rest
it's only another illusion

I've read Sylvia Plath 'til my eyes burn red
and finished too many bottles to rest
my weary head
and the tremor, the sadness,
the emptiness inside
confusion, and loneliness
years of my life, lost to
meaningless time

when sleep is nowhere to be found
the clock gets louder; it's torture!
That sound.
A sickness so cruel, when you're not allowed
to watch your own dreams
and nightmares are dreams too..you know
so theres no doubt; mine came true
and every night out the window i look and wonder
which is darkest, the outside?
or you.