Around Midnight on the 10th of January
I just want to be free.
Free from pain,
free from hate,
free from possibility,
free from myself.
I am chained to these thoughts as a ghost is to his earthly misdeeds,
and this mind of mine so weighs on me,
pulling ever so steadily upon my motivations
until even waking is a chore.
And yet, the sun still shines;
flowers still grow.
The songbird on my windowsill still sings out her praises each dawn.
From my cage of pretense I see the stars,
and through the darkness in this cell, my company is kept;
twinkling, and gently hopeful;
inspiring, yet not blinding
like daylight sometimes seems to be.
And if this heavy fog tires of my quiet agony
and leaves me for a moment,
blessed sleep may yet find me tonight.