it's 12:24 and you can't breathe,
When you think of what you won't achieve.
The incessant pounding in your head,
reveals the monster on the bed.
When your nails scratch your pale flesh,
porcelain skin turns blood raw fresh.
the moon's soft glow turns blue eyes grey,
You know they divert to hide your shame.
The lack of air to your lungs is tight,
A tenseness, knock-on state of mind.
But you know the morning sun will rise,
And on will come your day's disguise.