With miles to go before I sleep
and sounds around risen from the deep;
If I heard them, should I keep
the memories from haunting?

And as the grey rolls into black,
can you see the white hiding in the back?
The foundation that let’s us hold fast
and gives the hope to make it last.  

I see faces in the pages
jumbled between line spaces.
Hallucinations become engrained in
my vision while I listen

to the clack of chalk
scribbled
spat from fingers
and thoughts
dribbled.