Thanatos

Tortured sleep, and the clock drives forward, 
wind howls past an open window, 
shivers leave lips that were once so warm. 
The sun will never light this face, 
so darkened by the looming past,
so weathered by the pain. 
Rolling closer to the edge, 
restless, and out of touch, 
hands grip the covers, 
wishing to hold on to this temporary safety.
The deepest truths of the heart, 
rise to the forefront in this vulnerable moment. 

Death fills the blanks of this mind, 
as irrational temptations threaten to reign, 
roll over again, eyes flickering with each scene, 
replayed in sequence, like a movie on a silver screen, 
waiting to devour sanity, with the power to control. 
Manipulated by a power known to none, 
experiences used as weapons, like some cruel joke, 
torture, rather than peaceful acceptance, 
and nothing but surrender and submission are left. 
One clear voice speaks for one small second, like a whisper: 
"I think insomnia was easier", 
and yes, maybe it was. 

How hard it is to forget. 
Harder still is remembering.