Night-time Comes

Night-time comes, and I grow afraid.
Worry climbs into bed like a lover.
To get away, he would gladly trade
Every ounce of energy he has.

It pushes its way against the skin,
Making itself comfortable next to him,
Sleeping where once love had been,
Crowding for the comfort of the mattress.

Soon self-doubt climbs in on the top,
Followed by anger and resentment.
Two feelings he fights to make a stop.
They lay, tossed, and unslept in bed.

Unwilling to struggle come the morn,
Drifting uneasily into worthless sleep,
Waking with emotions spent, mind torn.
Night-time comes and I grow afraid.