As lunar cycles peak,
I lay in my bed,
Cold as autumn breezes,
Empty echoes of my own bad judgment
Keep me my only unwanted company.
My eyes can’t seem to close,
My heart can’t seem to sleep.
Never dozing, not a moment
Of unconscious mind.
On my back I lay with arms open wide,
My tattered conscience ---a crucifixion---
Makes me vulnerable like
My weakened body still rigid
From the tension from the feeling
Of all those tears never shed.
Am I quivering from rage?
From loneliness? From grief?
Or is it just the cold?
It’s all just the same, I’ve led myself
(This is why I feel so swallowed whole? ….).
Maybe I’ll soon find the answer;
Guilt always makes you see the light.