Oh raven come once more,
raucous call;
obsidian beak and ebony voice,
shining puncture;
slapping flap of chloroform wings,
unconscious wakefulness;
fell bird, your loathsome presence
is the constant of my night;
your piercing stare the token
of my fragile sanity;

I am made meek,
ensnared by the moaning moons;
lifting fogs and pregnant gloom,
under your forest eyes;
like an underdog to fate,
I yawn, open-mouthed kisses unto you;
you laugh callous goodbyes,
that you never mean, your chill and sweat
fills me with urgency;
I shiver over this drugged wakefulness;

From across your avian flicker tongue;
deceitful sleeping promises,
shadows thrown from candle to wall;
peel themselves like molting serpents,
coiling milk-eyed and vertebrae snap
once more unmoving into black;
never to rest, only to wait;

These amorphous shadows reach to caress,
slither slimy treacherous fingers, that tickle
the hanging noose of the watch, into tightening;
They collect my vacant death under ashen graves;  
Over screaming grins and clay mold surfaces of skin,
they drag their sodden embrace, withering me;
Just as hours trickle towards a deeper abyss.

A work of collaboration between human-ink (normal font) and soulreserve (italics). 

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
Edgar Allan Poe

There are those of us, not unlike Poe himself, for whom sleep ever eludes the grasp and its tranquility recedes even before we can take a drink. We remain confused and perturbed, drained of our energy as the night tricks us over and over again…To the owly-eyed folk we present this poem as an inchoate sketch of the dreaded insomnia…

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