X marks the spot,
Five minutes to midnight is the hour,
And blackness is my journey.
An exquisite lethargy prompted me to bed early, with
Thoughts of sweet fantasies rising to the fore,
A haven for dreams to come out and play. But,
For one hour and
Fifty five minutes exactly,
I have lay here.
And silent. In the margins of unconsciousness,
And pleading for sleep to take me.
X marks the spot
Where I have visited before.
A barren landscape with the cold calling of torment.
When days make me wring my hands in desperation
And that tunnel end no longer holds a light,
My worthiness disappoints me and
I seek a place other than X.
A forever after place,
Where I can dispatch myself and consider no
A place where moonlight meets dawn and