It feels good to be tired,
Things done, at least attempted,
Effort exerted, mind put forth,
For we are often simply wired.
From hell of sleeplessness exempted,
Slow on the way to find true north.

Though worries sickening don't dwindle,
They don't play games, they don't forgive,
Yet they exist but in a twinkle,
One bright but one of many that our eyes receive.

Deceiving calm, controlled illusion,
I will not feel the pain no more,
Into once rosy future now intrusion
Has been and gone, though shook the core.

It's true if shaken easily the no core it is at all,
But if the choice was mine, I wouldn't look for no core,
I'd take my hands off of the wheel and fall.

It's understandable, it's simple,
What one does daily,
One does not forgive in others.

We're born as wolves and grown as sheeple,
The undeveloped voice is asked "what say thee?" -
First learn enjoyment of its own silence it should rather.

I am the same, yet tiredness lets way to sleep alluring.
At least one more day of enduring life can be a little shorter,
Today did not rage in a storm nor perfect calm convey the water.