the Destruction of word(s)

Night

Night is quiet
it feels so right
yet so wrong
to be caught in song

Sleep seems to pass me by
like a needle brushing an arm
yet I stay unmoving
unresponsive to most things

To write after silence
is difficult yet to lose sight
of what is right or wrong
seems to be part of a tragedy
to tease a rhyme
to get to the next line

Guilty

Words often fall in place
during the hours left to sleep
sustaining ones self on words
is hardly enough to get by
so instead of wondering why
go out and mend the layers
of stimulating experience
to cope and sympathize
listening may be the method

Others take out their own logic
available for anyone given the price
the night is quiet I hear the cars roar
yet I tell myself to want more
I crave it to a degree
of intellectual attraction
purely based on instinct not design

To hold back one self in the bliss
of happiness is a scary thought
one I seldom look towards
in a twist of lemon flavored fate
I decide to wait it out
until it all forms around one another

Midnight skies tell the true stories
one cannot even mutter the picture
that lies beneath the sky line
words often get left behind
on the tip of ones breath
breathes a quiet death