Witching Hour

Dusk falls.
This brush crumbles beneath me.
Confoundingly restless 
As if slumber is obstructed
Yet I depend on it. 

Drained, 
My eyes wander,
In this dark shaped sphere.

Slumped on somber 
Tunes, which set the mood.
The vibe is harsh, 
Hectic and 
Enraged.
It’s strange,
How I cringe beneath these brillo sheets. 

The clock strikes tick-tick.
3AM. 
Half the number of the fallen one.
Who sits within my closet hunched 
And calling for me. 
A scream, as serene as a sirens 
Song taunts my beckon call. 
My skin crawls.

His mirthless smile 
Daunts my mind with
Thoughts of suicide and rumors.
Though I’m foolish
I’m not used to this, 
Nor accustomed to these 
Ludicrous ideas.

I’m loosing it I feel.
A lack of sleep is evident.
Depression has its way of messing with
Me effortlessly. 
Testing me to 
Push it to the limits 
And I’ve done this 
Far too many times.

I’m tired boss.
This anguish brings the worst out 
Again with the fight or flight.
I value life but pain and spite 
Are mixed despite my best efforts.

The devil looms as  
The witching hour brews.
But am I strong enough tonight
To strike 
Against another endless cycle.