You call to me in the night,

A silent black monolith of blue light,

Looming in my waking thoughts and dreams,

Punching buttons and tapping strings,

 

The world I think is dull and grey,

A window to that world you portray,

In bright headlines of chagrin,

The fleshy flinches of blinking skin,

 

Rest now my head to sleep,

Memoirs and almanacs numbers keep,

The cool glow of emptiness,

It is all too subtle for men to guess,

 

Insomniac, morbid, cynical,

My need for you is clearly clinical,

To poke and prod my wounds,

Forsake consciousness like baboons,

 

I want to disappear in you,

Forget the sleep I’ll never get to,

Sink into despair beyond depression,

Perhaps for me, there is an exception,

 

What is madness anyway?