Hung On My Heart
The devious feature Inside my head
Mischievous tapping on the walls
The little creature calls
Filling my soul with fear and dread
He asks me scary questions
And presents me with daunting suggestions
Things I wish I never had heard
Things that never should have been said
I trusted the creeping crawling fiend
In the night we did convene
When I was lonely and afraid
The things he did vile obscene
It was then he began to offer me blades
The shade of dark red helps me release
The stinging throb brings a stinging peace
The beautiful lines etched like art
The grim painting hung on my heart
Ah, it never goes away.
Insomnia poems are never happy poems.
I'm hardly a poet though so it doesn't matter.