I would really love to write.
I guess it will be in the middle of the night.

When the eyeball is so wide,
And the sky seems oddly bright.

When the silence wraps the universe so tight,
And my heart doesn’t quite feel light.

When my memories flinch, then take flight
I bleed through words to make things right.

Each thought of mine, like a distant satellite,
Slowly drifting… then burning bright.

Maybe then, with pen held tight,
I’ll find some peace on the loneliest night.