Latic:

The neon clock shines 3 am
the presenter on the radio blurbs
but sense not made
more for back ground
then the foregorund of thought
turning on to my side
huddled like a new born fetus
Closing my eyes laying back
feeling my head sink
futher deeper into my pillows
thoughts of the day run abound
in corridors of discontent
echoes of the things that were
images of the things that are
replay on an on
sockets open and heavy
from a day of self expletion
aching muscles coursing
binded by tiredness
slowly breathing
slipping futher
but sleep wont come
no not yet
as one lays as if waiting
for the moment
when the body will cease to be
cold and barren
bare and naked
shivering to create warmth
as I sink futher down
covers up to my chin
eyes fluttering
minute sounds echo
the call of the barn owl
as she hunts on the wing
in the dead if the night
a shriek of the fox
calling her babies to come follow
scratching of creatures
below in the courtyard
life goes on around me so
as I slowly drift away
trying to heal trying to replenish
this tired aching body
is it too much to ask it
to function so
to take for granted that we are
and we just simply be
or is this just but another day
of me simply having to live with
my M.E