Hypnos.

Wide awake, this consciousness is heavy leaden,
like a weathered path often downtrodden,
any second could deliver on threats of Heaven,
or find you holding court in Eden's forbidden gardens.

Remorse stands by awaiting further direction,
in its place regrets are soon erected.
The unkempt mind's arsenal overflows with deadly weapons.
Poison's infectious effects result in perceiving curses where there were once blessings.

Dastardly designed is this deceiving deadpan at the surface,
as desperation damages my insides, determined to undo decades of bliss.
Every breath an effort, I just stop and breathe uneasy,
afraid to acknowledge the anxiety that eats me from within.

All this madness--and lack of sleep is the one to blame;
she starts fires but never puts out their flames.
She corrodes sanity, like rats gnawing on the ropes that bind them.
Her talents are tragedies, flowers that faded in beauty once denied of their stems.