Sleepless

It’s the grey things you see first,

the things that once were red,

the things that once were blue,

the things your mind has bled

of every pleasant hue.

You feel it in the stillness,

the stagnancy of your breaths.

Nothing quite dispels this

cold yet living death.

You wander, lost untethered,

through a world your mind has weathered.

Painted grey and squalid black

cast adrift on placid tides

alone with no way back.

Then the grey is all you see

it swallows you like a whale.

This sorrow is a beast you see

stalking, waiting for you to fail.

And when you do it pounces,

refusing to relent!

It drains the colour from your life

till all your dreams are spent.

Now the grey is all I see

the world without its shine.

Sleepless on a sea of dreams

but not one of those dreams is mine.