Sleepless Nights and Bleary Eyed Mornings

With sleepless nights,
The conscious stream seems unreal.
Plays with your memory.

I am embattled,
And he is dug in.
A war of attrition raging in my mind.

I am so capable,
So very capable.
But when you’re fighting yourself all the time,
It’s difficult to see the horizon.

White mist….. I’m so haunted.
And through the mist, always exhaustion.

When it comes on,
When it builds up,
When the tension becomes all consuming and prevalent.
When I can’t sleep.
I like it.

Then I can fight.
No.
Not then but when.

I don’t like loosing to myself,
But it’s a propensity we all face.
I am going to be a terrible old man.
Maybe I should accept that people like me,
Should never get to that stage.

Rocks in my pockets;
Pills stitched into my sleeves;
A Swiss Army knife concealed in my shoe;
Anything that will prevent me a further breath.

The fearful absolution.
Head held high.
The drum beat of my heart in the darkness,
The march of my life.

The waking time,
The reckless hours,
The bleary eyed mornings.

Time to begin again,
They must not know this,
They cannot know what I am.

The contradiction of my own enigma,
A stranger in this world,
Even to myself.

Leave your thought.