the moon sits, on the branches of the tree
outside the window of my door
the wind whistles it's normally unheard tune
this is the time for it's solo
the fridge hums and floors creek
and there's a rattle from the lone car thundering by,
at 3am.
my mind races, while other are at rest
a pen in my hand, rather than a pillow under my head
really late turns into really early
my words are now silent, scribbles on paper
every feeling I've ever felt plays like a movie reel in my head,
at 3am.
my never dying love for you is loudest and
your faults are perfections
my once strong will is non-existent, just like
all the ****** up things you've ever done, so
I let myself miss you, and it feels even darker
than the blackest of moonless nights,
at 3am.
If I close my eyes, I can see your face
I smell you in each breath
let my tears drop to the page
don't even try to push it away
while my mind turns to liquid and pours out the tip of my pen,
at 3am.