Its 6 am
The cicadas fill the air
With their repetative songs
Of lust
Just out of time
With the ticking clock on the wall
Its just enough
to keep and insomniac awake
But so is silence.

Its 6 am
and i wish i could lace
My pink running shoes
And chase the bats from my head
With the sherbert coloured sunrise
Yet they are burried
In my back seat
Under all the things
I somehow aquired.
And dont want anymore

Its 6 am
And i like the silence
Of my own breathing
Filling the strange room
And i dont know
Despite being half mad
And displaced
I find a smile on my lips
A kind of bliss in the solitude.
And now:
I have so much time to read.