Morbid Mo(u)rning

***It's now 6:31 in the morning. And, unfortunately, I can not sleep. So I created this little piece of poetry; whether it's deemed good or not is upto you. Of course the poem, is about how I can not sleep.
Then throw in some mourning and longing, and you've got one great night of insomnia. Hurray! I love not sleeping! I'm actually saying that without any real enthusiasm at all!
So, like a lot of my poetry, you'll see a lot of "Her" in there; it'll seem all like a love poem. I actually don't know about that. I mean, the longing part, probably...but take it more as a "sad" poem than a "I miss the person I'm currently falling for" poem. Not that that would be the reason I can't sleep. Hahaha....yeah, I'm tired.**

Once upon a dreary dawn,
awoken by the call of black swans,
I spat upon the hopeless sun.

Now I weave bleak shadows,
twisting my eyes in the thorns of a rose.
And the lights are yet dim,
flourescent glint of spite,
always drowning in which I should swim;
gentle kisses and whispers goodnight.

So now weeping upon the ice,
wrapped in demented blankets made of skin,
and I can feel the bitter foreign blood slither down my chin.
And sorrow casts me to screaming seas,
gaping depths of my mental disease.

And she walks lightly upon my dreams,
tip-toeing upon the Sandman's stream.
I gather the remnants of tomorrow,
shattered by her enchanting cradlesong,
lulling me to right from wrong.

Though I wake from upon her lips
a beautiful morning eclipse,
by the serpents warped around her hips.
She sang of implicit love,
and I wither like the falling dove,
for where once the sun did reap,
I can no longer sleep.