Insomnia

These are the hours

that I've come

to know the best,

the hours the rest

of the world slumbers,

hidden

under the shades

of darkness,

while those things

that cause you

distress

keep you at bay,

under siege,

and I stand alone,

your support,

your strength

when you have none left,

unable to bring an end

to this torment.

Futility

is my nom de plume,

for I know

nothing but.

Your fight

is one I cannot

directly influence.

I cannot intervene,

cannot interpose,

taking the agony

you suffer perpetually

on myself

to give you

even a moment

of respite.

So I stay awake

in the darkling hours

and struggle

when daylight's hues

bring vibrancy

to the world around us.

My body craves surcease,

a chance to renew,

and none is there

because I must

take care of you.

Haggard and drawn

I become,

racing against

the certainty

that a crash is coming.

The only question

is which of us

will fail first?