Exhaustion nags at my thoughts;
laces its fingers within my brain
and tugs at my sanity.
This is the edge
and I teeter back and forth
between function and breakdown.
Depression has the winning hand tonight
and I know I will be up late
to play this endless game of poker,
or chicken-
pushing myself closer and closer
to this thin line
on the border of midnight and dawn.
I let myself sing a lullaby
until the words slur together
into a collage of dreams upon my tongue,
and I wish to only sleep
and forget for several years.
Poetic Trials 