in the corner of my head

In the corner of my head sleeps a memory, when the sun goes down it awakens. A wound in my soul it becomes. Every single night, as I sleep, it goes into my illusions and I sob in my seclusion. And when I don’t sleep at night until the sun is bright, it seems to fade away. And at the end of the day, again it returns and immensely bleeds and pains.