Unleashing my Inner Beast

Sleepless Nights

There's a small type of comfort,
In knowing that you aren't the only one.
Not the only one with insomnia,
Not the only one battling the past.

Sleepless nights are spent,
Carving out fake realities.
But my head ends up bent,
As I try to gather sleep.

Tired means tired,
As in no sleep.
I've never been wired,
From a caffeine drink.

My tears,
Are tears of sadness.
My dazed expression,
Is because I'm tired.

Bedtime should be a blessing.
Not something to dread.
Maybe I'm in it
Too far over my head.

I'm sick of the pressure,
Sick of the time.
Tired of reassuring people,
That I'm just fine.

I say I'm fine,
But I'm really not.
This is the past,
That I've pushed back and fought.

They tell us constantly,
"We all have pasts."
But then why do they judge us
By how we did act?

My past haunts me,
Every single day.
I cannot shake it,
But on my bed, I lay.

Sleep doesn't reach me,
It doesn't like me much.
So I sit and I think,
Of how to avoid
The edge of the brink.