I know how you feel
At 4am when everything should be
Quiet; eyes closed,
Breath steady at an even pace,
Keeping pace with the subtle rhythm
Of your pulsing heart.
Nothing stirs, here,
Besides your afflicted mind,
A testament to all the
Late night infomercials
And dimly lit gas station windows:
Dutifully droning on
Amidst the sleepy silhouette
Of normalcy and a good eight hour rest.
There's no use fooling yourself,
Closing your eyes and heavily counting off
Sheep, in a vain attempt to assimilate
Something like sleep-
There's no point trying, here,
When a sliver of sky outside your window
Starts to turn a subtle shade lighter
Than 2am darkness.
Being alone is never as poignant
As when you're woken up in the middle
Of the night,
Surrounded by dark space
And stagnant memories, impartial
To the emptiness of a moment.
I know how you feel,
Restlessly turning your body
To face the wall,
Adjusting your lumpy feather pillow,
Peeling off your socks:
Routine can cure the coldest hearts,
But sleep will always elude it.
Stuck within your impetuous rituals,
Solitude seeps in
Through your open eyelids;
4am drips into 5am,
And before you know it,
Everything is gone.