Behold, the tyrant of my rest,
That siren shrill upon my chest,
It sings not sweet, but sharp and clear,
A metal hymn I loathe to hear.
Its voice invades my fragile dream,
A banshee birthed from some machine,
The dawn is young, the sky still gray—
Why must you steal my sleep away?
I swat, I plead, I bargain low,
Five minutes more—just let me go.
But time, that thief, will not be kind,
And drags my body from my mind.
Yet as I rise, begrudging, sore,
And shuffle feet across the floor,
I know, though cursed, you’ve done me right—
Without your scream, I’d miss the light.
So ring, you beast, each cruel morn anew,
For life begins when I battle you.
Therapy Bits 
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