Tossing and turning but there is  no comfort found,

She lays there after midnight ,

No book, hot tea or  own hug would calm her down.

All there is to feel: A grave sinking disappointment,

By those conversations which drains her dry;

Or Maybe her own sick mind trolling her life.

How much she wishes to go to sleep,

To get some relief from this chaotic being.

To go to the dream world is all she asks,

Until the final escape will let her pass.