Insomnia

I lie awake at night recalling
untruths spoken, misdeeds done,
the scope of which is so appalling
I hate the person I've become.

The plans I form weigh down upon me,
trickle through my grasp like sand,
self doubt the thief that steals them from me;
hope is slain by my own hand.

Oblivion is my attraction,
yet stronger is the will to live,
though I'm crippled by inaction,
choked by wrongs I can't forgive.

This fool who possessed great potential
weeps because the milk is spilled.
My sentence is inconsequential,
dead ambitions unfulfilled.

And so I lie awake and wonder,
tell myself I do not care,
even as I'm sinking under
unforgiving dark despair.