To the moon...

When reality knocks too hard,
And the world scars my skin,
The only words that ever makes sense,
Is the rant my brain conjures.

When insomnia strikes a match,
To burn the night ever so slow,
I tend to colour my blacks
With shades of grey and blue.

It is indeed my escapist friend
Who rescues my cold senses,
When I 'm rendered unconscious
By the fumes of today's toil.

When fair skies fail to lighten
The heavy heart that beats,
What then is left to do?
Where can the lonely go?

When restraint is a shadow,
That wanes with the fading light,
I run to my filthy corner
And hide behind the haze.

When obligations hold me fast
And remind me of my defecit,
I let my words enthrall me,
And propel me to the moon.