Here I am again,
chasing that elusive sleep.
I keep trying in vain,
for sweet slumber and I to meet.
Perhaps it's the alluring moon
that keeps my mind in motion?
Synapses firing in the brain making me into a loon.
A condition that cannot be cured even by that wonderful potion.
It's commotion with a preconceived notion,
but in this state, the notion remains hidden,
triggered by my deepest emotions.
Those that, even for me, remain forbidden.
My brain, constantly riddled,
no matter night or day,
or even how much I've fiddled,
these demons I cannot slay.
If I run faster instead of laying waste,
maybe I can catch that blue moon
and hold it in my warm embrace,
perhaps convincing it to sing my tune.
Shall I dare try again?
Oh, this monotonous dread!
Possibly this relationship we can mend,
for I shall again try to slumber in my bed.