2 a.m is for...
the angels with bleeding wrists
the misunderstood poets
the dreamers wishing for better luck
the late night dancers slicing skin
the haunted soldiers  
the beaten, broken
outcasts

Late at night we thrive surviving on dreams that never die.

Uncertainty fills the air
And suddenly I'm not so sure.
Nostalgia begins to decay
But why?
Heavy, heavier...
I inhale and sigh with, what, exasperation?
Creation?
These are all mere distractions
To prevent myself from colliding
With myself,
With how I feel.
Emotional trauma, Part I -
Coming soon to a childhood near you!
We laugh it off
But it does not leave us.
Nothing can leave us
As easily as you walked away
That night.
I will not forget what I saw.
Engraved in my brain
Causing me to crumble
Tumble, tumble...
**Crash.