One a.m., where the tiredness creeps,
The angel turns to sin and the hardened devil weeps,
One a.m., where taps turn to knocks, and whispers to shouts, where a normalcy could make your skin crawl inside out.
One a.m., where my demons dwell, gesturing fiendishly and yanking my chains towards my personal Hell.
One a.m., where thoughts crawl like spiders to set cobwebs upon my brain.
One a.m., where the voices finally win, and the emptiness screams my name.
It's once again One A.m.,so tell me, am I to be declared tired? Or am I simply insane?
YOU ARE READING
All the Notes I'll Never Leave
PoetryDark poetry from a dark mind. Enter only to see the world from upside down, backwards, and behind.
