There is an Hour

There is an hour
Somewhere between dusk and sleep
When sleep eludes
That I become
Uncomfortable in my own flesh
I become nothing more
Than a hollow void
Filled with words

They pour out
A thronging mass seeking exposure
Fighting one another for air
They rob me of my will
To dream in pictures

I have become accustomed
To their company of late
Though I am weary
And they have drained me
Down to my last dregs

Will there ever be silence in my mind?
You know, I wish it not.
Without those words to fill
The chill and hollow night
What else could there ever be?