No rest for the WICKED , but I’m not
Every night torment seems to haunt me
Depriving me of restful dreaming state
As moonlight glimmers in the dark of night,
I look for reflections, a message , a blink.
No rest for the WICKED, but I’m not
A song reprises as the clock strikes down
The meaning haunting, admittance daunting
The reality hard to comprehend, honesty painful
Again it starts; the what ifs, what could and what should,
And in bright moonlight the question still lingers:
“If you had one shot,
to seize everything you ever wanted,
would you capture it,
or just let it slip…”
No rest for the WICKED, but I’m not!
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