Insomnia

Sometimes the pain inside my head,
Instructs me I would be better off if I were dead.

The constant apprehension,
Never ceasing for a brief suspension.

There is only so much one mind can construe, before you feel as though you must eschew from thought.

An over clocked brain,
Forced into a constrained state.
One locked in chain.

Forcing the host to articulate words from morbid plot.
Forcing the soul to copulate,
With the inner most demons that ones mind can create.

Slowly turning morbid thoughts,
To self sustaining ghoulish plots.