The Night of a Mare

When the pill loses its heal, A shaft of tumultuous storms yield. Black becomes the realest colour, Where blinks of memories glide in clutter Of some words and questions and doubts, from my strangling twinges of guilt they spout. I lest the awakening eyes bind me still, Lights break from every depth of good and ill. Lights break where no sun shines, Embracing the world of chaotic whines.

#insomnia