I want my mind to turn off, but all it ever does is whir and hum to the beat of its circadian drum.

My poor mind is trying to tell me something, but I don’t want to listen.

Years of living in this word has made everything but my patience thicken.

But late at night when the sounds are hushed, my mind has the center stage.

Behind the wide expanse of my dreams, I see a light twinkling in the farthest point of the void.

My humble little mind is telling me I  have to leave the cage.