The good sleep, they say, is when silence wins—
but mine comes when the worst begins.
Eyes closed, but the world still screams,
in shadows stitched between my dreams.

Pain waits like luggage left behind,
tagged with truths I tried to unwind.
It boards the train without a name,
to where the stars forget the flame.

No ticket back, no platform light,
just echoes riding into night.
If this is rest, then let me roam
until the end, or some kind of home.