I feel something Wriggling at the Edge of my conscienceness

It is like a Ghost or a sheen Of mist that I can't lay my finger On but for the movement

It begins to nibble At my mind And little by little My thoughts obediently Turn to it

I feel I should Know who or what This unknown Assailant is, but It is like trying to Part fog I can't get A better view

Soon my mind is All but consumed And all I wish Is to seek out this Thing and destroy it

My mind begins To bubble over like Boiling water, and My thoughts minutely Turn to the color Of blood fresh from The vein

I turn over and Try to barricade My thoughts into Blackness, later I continue to Toss, sleep evades My searching grasp

I am greeted By the dawn and The sun's rosy face I groan with the effort Of daily activities Without the comfort Of a night's rest

As finally I pack Up and begin to Move on, I start To remember what It is that I forgot