Stale boots
tap as they abrade stepping stones
Etched
with memories of those beneath;
Fatigued eyes scan the meadow counting roses,
Expecting
results identical to counting sheep.
No longer
can I endure the torture of the slenderest hand
Hovering
above me with an eternal tick-tock;
Nor can
I abide the grudging pupils of a faint madman
Scrutinizing
me from glass as if he were a hawk.
Nonexistent
thoughts bellow in my minds prison,
As I
count off the seconds until I am released;
I
desire nothing more nor less than to escape insomnia,
Reason
being that I may finally rest in peace.