When clocks are chiming midnight
and unleashing witches' spells,
I'm either found in slumber deep
or waking, weeping Hell.

My slumber is not ever blessed
with reassuring dreams,
but filled with short-lived numbness
or with black, abhorrent screams.

Awake, I open windows
and attempt to drink the night,
with its sounds, infrequent, mystery-filled,
and awe-inspiring might.

Yet,oft I choke as I imbibe,
as painful thoughts caress
my splintered mind, and fuel desire
for self-inflicted death.