I sit here held prisoner

At one in the morning by

The madman myself forced

To be alone with the thoughts

Which don't stand a chance in

The daytime only to arise

At these ungodly hours like

A bat waking up for the

Hunt.

Why must I think? I

Remember in only the vaguest

Way the days when small things

Little toys satisfied me living

Day to day without thinking

In complicated circles

Not bad thoughts not horrible

Thoughts just thoughts

Without end never giving

My gray matter a moment to

Rest not even when I dream

And I find myself dreaming

Of ignorance dreaming of

The innocent fields of learning and

Optimism.

I find my childhood washed

Away in a flash-flood of

Uncertainty.

I hear him knocking at my

Door he's not even there I'm

Too young.