nights penance.

An Erie night does countless see,
cryptic myth or memory,
For loose or tightened,
Both do ore
It burns internal to thy core,
A number, an hour, a minute to thee ,
for me it seems eternity,
I lye awake in agony,
Calculating thy penalties , a darkened room, which still holds fright,
this endless battle with thy night,
i close my eyes' , i scrunch them tight,
And hope to open them,
to thy morning light.