laying in my bed it's 4:27 
in the morning
my window is propped open washing me with waves of heat and sound
the birds chirping, don't they know the time?
i feel itchy all over i think i'm covered in bugs
how ridiculous it is yet in the morning my skin is raw and scabbed
battle wounds
i begin to drift off at last, allowing myself to slip into sweet nothingness
nothingness indeed
i'm floating between realities; the reality in which i'm itchy with bloodshot eyes and the reality with you
just as i finally reach my sanctuary my paradise my peace, 
just as your hand is practically tangibly intertwined with mine,
the birds are no longer chirping
screaming
they are screaming and rip me from you
mental whiplash
and though i curse them for sending you away
i know i must thank them for saving me the exquisitely delicate pain of the unrequited passion i would be welcomed by
come dawn