So tired, was tired all night, then worked all day
Didn't get much sleep, torturing myself
With stupid thoughts, yet had to let them play
Through to some conclusion, for mental health
Reasons. You can't just store it on the shelf
Or shove it under a giant carpet
Scrape it out, let it blow around, dissolve
Into dust particles that can't be caught
Straight away, little thoughts in silhouette
Spiralling slowly round and down as they
Repeat their moves after the stroke of twelve
Backlit not by the sun but the moon, set
To torment you for hours. And yet it may
Be a way of recovery by stealth
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