I'm having those three am thoughts at midnight. It's like someone is reaching in through my ear and grabbing my brain, pushing and compressing it against my eye sockets so that my eyes blur. I'm having those three am thoughts at one am where the devil reaching up from under my bed and he is grabbing my wrist shaking my body over and over. He is pulling my hair and pinching my sides and making every sinful flaw I have stick out in my mind. I'm having those three am thoughts at two am, the time when I plug in my lights because suddenly I'm afraid of the dark. When all my darkest thoughts come to life, dancing on the walls in shadows of pain and misery. I'm having those three am thoughts at three am. I'm having those thoughts that make me do things I don't want. It's that time when all of the three am thoughts compile together to make the biggest three am thought there is. I'm having a four am thought at four am, and I'm regretting every three am thought that I had that night. Because if I knew what my four am thought would've said to me then all those three am thoughts wouldn't have happened; and maybe I wouldn't have destroyed half of portfolio because I couldn't see where I was going, or because the devil on my shoulder said the angel took a break, or because I needed scrap for my fire because my lights were broken. I would have my four am thoughts at every hour if I could, but because of my three am thoughts I feel as if they're the only thoughts I'll ever have.


Oddly enough I think I might be okay with that.

We were sitting around the kitchen table, my eyes prickled with tear. "Why are you crying?", but you might as well have said 'Shut up and do not speak your mind.' I looked up and wiped my eyes. "It's embarrassing."

I spoke so quiet I hardly heard myself. I saw you reach for my notebook, and in three point seven seconds I yelled 'No!' My shoulders rose and fell quickly. My small hand slammed on the table grabbing the book. Your demaner changed and you got angry. You took my hand and crush my fingers within yours and ripped the book from my hand. Tens apon tens of pictures flew out as you shook all of its organs from the binding. My eyes fell the floor, nothing was left in the notebook. The notebook full of horrible feelings and terrible secrets. You snatched the cover open and flicked through. With all the cynicalness you had, you ripped the pages and fed them to the garbage disposal.

I look up in the same spot as I had began. We were sitting around the kitchen table, my eyes prickled with tear. "Why are you crying?", but you might as well have said 'Shut up and do not speak your mind.' I looked up and wiped my eyes. "It's embarrassing."

"Fix yourself before I fix you."

I'm startled but I wipe away my tears and eye my notebook dangerously. I live to write another day.