I'll Hate Myself to Sleep

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Her words cut through the ether, ensuring
Another night I’ll hate myself to sleep.
The mind o’erthrown becomes an unwilling
Traitor – yielding all sense as mem’ry creeps;
Rising once more from the abyss of dreams.
You’d think by now my heart would be immune;
Standing impregnable ‘gainst lies which seem
Sweet, though prove nothing but a Siren’s tune.
In truth, I can’t deny wishing to hear
Those songs again, although I know they’ll cause
Renewed pain; fueling a madness I fear
Leaves love forever corrupted and flawed.
   Lady, I beg, demand no more of me,
   For thy tongue hath bred my soul’s agony.

Darkness

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I descend into the darkness slowly,
Reluctantly, for slumber provides no
Respite from the pain. I resist, knowing
My unconscious mind lacks the power to
Turn away visions of you, leaving me
Defenseless in the ether; foundering
In a dream of love that will never be
Real. I stand alone, chaos surrounding
Every thought; while doubt infects my brain,
All worldly cares slacken and madness raves.
Why must mem'ry continue to constrain,
Tempting a fragile spirit toward the grave?
   Sleep serves as no cure for this kind of tired,
   And my wit contends 'gainst death in the mire.