I wish my thoughts were more akin to theirs
My mind - a shrink-wrapped, sanitary attic
No screeching doors, no running down the stairs
The silence never broken by a burst of static
Could I be worthy of a higher praise?
Yes - is the answer that will frequently transpire
I fear it's just insanity that frays
My fragile strings of nerves tugged by desire
A dream chimaera fell with one clean sweep
I'm trapped just like them, but at least I chose my maze
Not knowing it goes vastly wide and deep
In THIS world I bear watching solely through a haze
How warm and silent is the lesser death of sleep
No gnashing of the teeth, no painful flashes
Like embers scattered among bodies on a pyre
I only see the stars - as they smoulder to ashes
I've got so many wounds, but slumber weaves its bands
And so, with night and lids shielding my eyes
I, grasping the cold clay with absent hands
Grow peaceful with the thought of my demise