i'm hitting the 3am mark again
on the good high,
the middle ground between tipsy and drunk

but alcohol is a danger to my perception
i mistake your lust for love,
your touch for care

when the light resurfaces,
so do my flaws;
new bruises on my legs
fading marks on my neck

but when the light resurfaces,
so does my rationality
i become a bundle of nerves again
regrets choke my throat and blur my vision

words can barely form in my mind now,
let alone the feelings in my heart
wasn't i merely another piece of plastic to you?

i cry for the trust i placed in you but it's no use,
all i know is i'm left wondering
when will my life begin?

today i learnt that 3am is witching hour
i think back to the 3ams we spent together
our thoughts growing louder
as the world grew silent

witches would have had nothing on me
with you, my fears remained shrunken
a rock, a stone, a gem
my rock, my stone, my gem

remember how i picked at your mind
remember how you learnt my idiosyncrasies
remembering intimacies and depth
remembering limits and being apart

‘patience is a virtue’
i never understood that till i saw it reflected in you
but then again, patience. . .
the very thing that made me tear us apart

we used to fit ourselves into each other’s schedules, like puzzle pieces
now remote acquaintances at the very least
strangers and driftwood
torn apart, all on my part

consider this a shout to an endless void
a scream into an abyss
a plea to your heart
all that you will never witness

but if i ever cross your mind even for a millisecond
do accept my last selfish request
promise they’ll be good thoughts
or maybe, at the very most, promise you’ll call

after all 3am was always ours
two of us fending against the dark
an incessant, hopeful memory (yet one of my favourites)
3am will always be ours