Insomnia

Three in the morn That's when the ideas form When the gibbering par Monsters with eyes cinnabar takes over what's left of sanity, rationality and tranquility What remains of you is nothing more than lunacy, frailty and insanity At times like this When everything is bliss I ask myself repeatedly To what do i owe this pleasure? In the train of thoughts I travel to the land of lost Hopes,desires and aspirations Boxed up to be thrown Down the subduction zone At times like this When everything is a bliss I ask myself repeatedly To what do I owe this pleasure