modern sonnet 2

This is purely self-indulgent. Of course, most of my poetry is.

I walk the silent streets alone at night
And stand bereft on corner islands lit
By graceless rays. I'm thinking that I might
Attempt to find some quiet place to sit.
In coffee-houses, dark and filled with smoke,
I struggle with ideas that mean nought.
I’ve heard the coffee-poets can't revoke
Their own poetic licences when caught.
In institutions filled with weary brains
I wrestle with the concepts that are bound
To cause my death. At times I feel such pain.
I wonder if my body would be found.
Condemned to highs and lows, this is my plight:
To walk the silent streets alone at night.