Wraith

I know what it is to be one of the restless dead, for that is the condition of my soul and my barely beating heart.

Losing Sleep

This deafening silence drowns out the sound of the thoughts in my head, and urges on a ceaseless doubting of all that I am; awash in the shadow of a fading memory I lose sense of being while grasping at all that I have been.

Detachment

Uncertainty consuming, a conflagration of doubt consummating a marriage of distress and distraction causes the spirit to falter and slip away; an unwinding of the ties that bind, unintended and unwanted releases all sense of security, all for an unwelcome distance between poet and muse.