The moonlight filters through curtains and
fills the bedroom of the stolen woman,
casting shadows against the walls
around where she lies in fitful sleeplessness.
There is a feeling in her chest, a strange, unfamiliar tightness
along her collarbone that seemed to spread
as she recalled the day that she did away with the life in her ****.
It was so cold, in that bleach white room.
The sterility of the cell, ******* the virility from within her
It hurt too, like she was being ripped apart
The sensation lingered long after the procedure.
She is exhausted. Nobody told her that pain
would be so draining.
There is nothing left in her to keep moving.
Yet even the sanctuary of a dreamless sleep evades her.
So she tosses and turns, sheets tangled around her legs
as she tries in vain to find comfort in her own bed.
Her heart aches.
This room used to be such a warm, safe place.
Solitude comforted her, as the best company in the world was her own.
Now that her most intimate relationship--
the one she had once had with herself--
has been violated,
that serenity is gone
leaving only a raw, throbbing pain in its place.
He had taken her own autonomy away from her,
but he had also stolen something almost as precious:
Three minutes of his time in exchange
for countless hours of her own,
hours that belonged rightfully to her
now belonging to him too, as he monopolized
her every waking and sleeping thought.
Now, here, in this place of bitterness
and sorrow, she felt her mind begin to fade.
A person can only grieve for so many hours in a day.
As the stabbing in her gut subsided to a dull ache
she let her eyes soften into the strain of the night,
her consciousness melting away into the shadowy morning.
The birds would not be awake for another few hours.
The sun remained tucked solemnly down
in the folds of the mountainous horizon.
Exhaustion overtook sorrow, and she reached out
into the inky blackness, turning over the digital clock
that screamed at her the morning hour.
As quickly as the red lights disappeared, so did she
And thus concluded the mourning hour.
Another look at "Three in the Morning"