The Night

He wakes up in a pool of sweat, those drug-fuelled crazy dreams,

night terrors come to haunt him; none can hear his silent screams.

Shuffling like the living dead he takes the magic beans,

a kaleidoscope of colours, his drug regime begins.

A few hours grace, a throwback, of how he used to be,

knowing that it’s all a ruse and he never will be free.

The sickness claims his body as it slowly eats his brain,

all that’s left is dignity and that’s begun to wane.

Stares and glares from public who haven’t got a clue,

but then bigotry and judgment to them is nothing new.

Shunned by those he called his friends without a rhyme or reason,

like rats out of a sinking ship on a tide of self-destruction.

One day he’s up the next he’s down, he’s become the perfect liar,

depression’s knocking at his door as he walks the jester’s wire.

When night becomes day in an insomniac way and demons dance in his mind,

It’s the pain of the present, a fear of the future and ghosts of a life left behind.

He knows the days are numbered, he knows he’s getting worse,

no magic or no wizardry can lift this bloody curse,

He doesn’t fear the reaper it’s his goading he can’t hack,

he thinks his Gods forsaken him and the Devils on his back.

Embryos and genetics, what if they found a cure?

Dare to dream the perfect dream, he is like he was before.

Darkness falls, the worlds asleep, the insomnia begins to bite,

he’s wide awake in his lonely world, Oh Christ! not another day of night.