She Can't Sleep on Sunday Nights

She drifts in and out
A restless sleep
The lonliness haunting
Her soul to keep

Sleepless nights
Restless days
Always add up
In many ways

To sorrow deep
and greater fears
And always fuel
The pain filled tears.

Sundays are the worst
The nights with the least
These are the nights
That hunger the beast.

Sorrow and hurt
She knows them too well
The now waking world
Her own living hell

But she wears a mask
To hide her distain
None will ever see
Her true inner pain.

But she pushes on
Through bright city lights
Despite the fact
That she can't sleep on sunday nights.

©2012 Alex Hicks