these long nights drag on for several thousand years
trudging through blackness of the dark unknown
shuffling their feet as if lagging behind the common good
while you become hoarse screaming for them to hurry
for when all is said and done
and you are caught in the middle of another empty void
all you want is for the void to be filled,
the blackness to gain color and light,
for the vast deep abyss to be filled in so you can cross it
that sadness that lengthens my hours
is having that which having makes them short
but at the same time having that held slightly out of reach
as if dangling a toy over a hysterical child's head
no stars pierce this huge black display
when you go down and scream for it all to be over
you notice that in all this vast emptyness
the only live being is you yourself
and you have never felt so alone in your life
the desire to end the night becomes your sole purpose
your very existence wanes down to that solitary mission
is there a reason for the night?
all it seems to be is torture
a time for waiting, in which the expected never comes
wails reach the back of your throat before escaping
ripping apart the empty void, but changing it not
when, in all reality,
your only wish is for the morning to break
 
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