At two in the morning your mind starts picking up speed like a train that was made in Japan but transplanted in America.
It goes faster than normal and only makes stops in two hours intervals that make you wish that you could that fast and never stop.
At two in the morning you wish that the world was as frozen as Antarctica but as warm as Africa.
You wish that the temperature never changed and that you could stay frozen in time like Captain America, until you feel like I'm freezing your heart and mind and moving forward again.
At two in the morning, I am usually asleep and dreaming about a place that exist only when you close your eyes and escape into the very thing that is your being.
The flowing rivers that make up your thoughts are rushing rapids that roil right there in front of you.
The mountains that make your heartbeat that surround your mind and make you have no second thoughts.
The very same mountains that cause you to dive head first into the endless lake you call your aura and drown in the feelings of everything at once.
At two in the morning, I don't usually write poetry.
But this morning in particular I have found that not only does inspiration strike at two but It strikes as fast as you have diarrhea.
Poetry is diarrhea of the head and the heart working together instead of against each other.
At two in the morning, you start thinking of things that couldn't have happened without meeting some people.
The same people who spend forever on one poem, and never finish others.
At two in the morning, you become real.
As real Pinocchio, who went from wood to human.
As really as the walls that you sometimes wish to bang your head upon and crack open that skull so some inspiration leaks out like egg whites into a bowl.
At two in the morning, my breathe becomes the air in which I never want to breathe in again.
It becomes the song that I refuse to listen to because it reminds me so much of what I'm missing and what I will never have.
At two in the morning it becomes dreams of finding someone. you love dead and a bullet in their head.
It becomes a broken down mindscape and a ragged heartbeat.
It becomes a demon who spreads lies and rumors about the ones you love.
At two in the morning you can find the beast that lurks at night waiting to fight like Jekyll and Hyde.
It becomes the one thing you never want to see among your dreams and among your thoughts.
At two in the morning, you find out that not only are you not living.
You are a husk of the person who you thought you where.

As two turns into three in the morning. you find yourself breaking down and crying out tears that sting your flesh.
You find yourself breaking in the most beautiful of ways and you find yourself wanting to be dead inside with no hope of being resuscitated.
At three in the morning your cocoon of hatred turns into a butterfly with broken wings and a scarred body.
At three in the morning you become a bird that soars in the air with nothing but when your next meal on your mind.

At three in the morning, I become something that scares me.
I become what I push underneath and hide away for all eternity.
At three in the morning I am building a protective circle of salt around my heart and my mind so that no evil spirit make break me and that no one can get to me.
I am building a brick wall so tall that I can't see the blue sky that I trapped in my eyes.
I built a wall so tall the the night trapped inside my hair cannot and will not be shown to me.
At three in the morning, I have become more broken by what isn't then what is.
By three in the morning I am a new person and none can change that.
By  the time I'm writing this line tears are trickling out of my eyes like mirrors reflecting the pain and lies that I have told myself.
Like the lake that is nothing more but a calming prayer in my wild life.
I am crying a year for all the wrong I have done to myself and to everyone around me.
at 3:18 am, I am regretting most decisions in my life.
I sometimes wish that my brain doesn't pick important days to keep me awake.
At three am you can find me laying down curled into a ball because it protects me from the pain of knowing that I'm not all that important.
Most of the time you can find me trying to find a way under my skin that doesn't involve a knife or nails.
In the earliest part of the morning you can find me trying to decide if I want to wake up today or stay asleep forever.

At three in the morning I have over come most of my reluctant thoughts to see that I am a beautiful flower with thorns that protect from grabby hands.
I have found that I hold all the oceans and the skies in my eyes.
I have found that I hold both the day and night in hair.
I have found that I hold the purest ivory in my skin and no one can take but me.
I have found that I wish to change the world through my poetry and myself through it too.

I have found that if I let myself wilt and die that I would just be another death that would hurt more people then it's worth.
Maybe that's why people write poetry at two in the morning.
Maybe that's why, I write poetry in two in the morning.
Because if I don't then I am wilting and giving up the will to live.

I have found that writing at two and three in the morning can clear your burdens more than anything else in the world.
Maybe that's why poets don't really sleep.
Poets just nap and then continue on with there life.
This is why I write at two in the morning.
Why do you?