Narcotic Nightmares Blossom

Wayward thoughts, curl around my mind in treachery,
Smothering the last unconscious thoughts that remain,
In a growing narcotic blossom, they hang and writhe,
Snapping at anything human, hiding the gathering strength,

The great fog obscures reality and bends the path of time,
Dragging out the subconscious seconds to hours,
Then mercilessly smashing them into weeks,
Tiny little fragments of lifetimes broken at my feet,

It tarnishes the once great ideals of a sane mind,
Burning down the capitals of former sense,
Razing the former forests of knowledge to nothing,
Leaving my battered self, enbrined by the fog,

Surrounded by dancing shadows of demons,
Continuously being slashed by ancient frosted blades,
Unable to scream out the gathering storm of pain,
For fears of increasing this damned torment,

And in an instant, its all gone, the fog lifted,
Instead I'm flooded with the bright light of day,
Blinding my deadened senses with a lethal threat,
Of repetition once night falls, so now, now i wait . . .