Self-Made Pain

A poem about thinking too often, dwelling too much, and dreaming too little

Late at night
when dusk's vultures
circle in the twilight
Where dreams appear
only to disappear
in a realm of unseen pleasure
and unseen pain
My mind remains
bound by thought
tormented by naught
but my own imagination
Self-made pain, beyond any doubt
my own self-proclaimed asphyxiation
weakens my soul
as my mind cries more more more!
Yet more comes not, as I wait
waiting for the silence to come at last
waiting for the answers to end the mass
waiting hopelessly for it to come
knowing nothing will ever be done
As I slowly encroach upon the darkened ground
becoming my own enemy, a critique to be feared
spurring onwards sadness, deep within
Knowing pain is self-made
and thoughts cause arise to sin