I hear the black night symphony,
The chorus of darkness,
Playing through the hours of morning.
Awake—the thickening anguish feels
Like more than I can bear.
Thoughts scattering, but collected,
Running in circles forever and ever
Like in a marathon that has no end.
The dreams aren’t coming any longer.
Just trails—trails upon trails of
My thoughts, twirling and winding
Like the halls of Winchester Manor.
The seconds begin to spiral out
Of control as the trails of my mind
Break into more trails, break.
They’re crooked and jagged like
The arms of an old, gnarled tree.
No end. There’s no end to them.
They will not stop—ruthless,
Like endless hordes of demons
Pouring from the black gates of Hell.
They say that I’m alone and
That I’ll always be alone.
I curse those voices, but they do
Not stop. You cannot love the pain
And evil out of them. It cannot be done.
So much time, and so little.
It’s moving fast, moving away.
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