Kept awake long hours by idle thought.
There seems to be no rest for a mind that is fraught.
Sleep comes and goes, and never lasts for long,
And yet, to my knowledge, nothing is wrong.
That doesn’t stop my brain, though, from thinking the worst,
Reliving past failures, and believing I’m cursed.
Countless 2am musings, reliving events,
My neurones are firing, my whole body tense.
Replaying today, yesterday, or years ago.
As I replay past errors, my anxieties flow.
“What was I thinking?”, “What did I say?”
“What must they think of me?”, “Why’d I fuck up this way?”
Esprit d’escalier in the middle of the night
Berating myself, “I can’t do anything right.”
There must be some method to shut off my head,
From telling me I’m stupid, and am better off dead.
Over-active imagination is a son-of-a-bitch,
And anxiety disorder is a wicked old witch,
Like the pedlar in Snow White, coaxing me back
With the apple of self-doubt, all poisoned and black,
With ominous thoughts and feelings of dread,
And although I do realise that it’s all in my head,
I spend long, dark hours afraid of myself.
This constant state of wakefulness is not good for my health.
So, shut up, damned brain, and just give it a rest.