Under the pouring night, I lay afraid

of the bed, and of the monster I have made.

My thoughts wander through the densest of clouds;

I think of death, and his scythe.

My ears hear the faintest of whispers;

they hear harmonious melodies of desperation, and

with that euphonious symphony, I sway.

I sway as I watch the monster at the corner,

and I am afraid, and I am serene.

I am sane, and I am insane.

Under the sky of June, I lay afraid

of my mind, and of the malevolent things it thinks of,

and as I think of death, I cannot close my eyes,

for Death may grab me by life,

and walks away with a soul that was mine.