Another night of chasing hours
as they slip between my fingers—
the moon is wide-awake with me,
a silent witness to my linger.
The ceiling hums its quiet tune,
the walls breathe in the dark;
every thought turns neon bright,
each worry leaves a mark.
By dawn my eyes are half-stitched open,
my mind a tangled, fraying thread;
someone asks me how I’m doing—
I smile, “Oh, just peachy,”
though I’m mostly made of dread.
Still I rise, though sleep has left me,
its echoes fading out of reach;
a tired soul still moving forward—
even shadows learn to teach.
Therapy Bits 
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