I have not slept, nor dared to dream,
These thirty nights, or so it seems.
For when I close my weary eyes,
A thing within the silence cries.

No cradle-rock, no slumbered grace,
Can calm the grave that wears my face.
Each breath I take, each fleeting sigh,
Is shadowed by a lullaby.

A ghastly song I cannot flee,
That worms its tune inside of me.
Its melody is soft, but foul,
A widow’s breath, a mourner’s howl.

It calls me not by name or birth,
But by my weight upon the earth.
It knows my guilt, it knows my sin,
It gnaws the bones I wear within.

I once had thoughts, once held beliefs,
But now I speak in silent grief.
My tongue is dust, my words are thin,
The void has rooted deep within.

And oh, the eyes that stare me down
From corners black and ceilings brown,
They blink in rhythm with my shame,
They mouth my crime, they chant my name.

I dare not sleep, I dare not slip
Beneath that veil, that sinking crypt.
For sleep is where the verdict lies,
And judges hide in dreaming skies.

So here I sit, with candles low,
And let the noiseless hours grow.
My soul is wan, my nerves are frayed,
I rot inside, but I’m afraid.

For somewhere deep beneath this skin,
Where sleepless hours have long grown thin,
There waits a door…unlocked, unwise
That opens not with hands,
but eyes.