i write my comfort wearily at night
the gooseflesh brought upon my skin by cold
a broken screen, the splintering of glass
all held together by a feeble glue
i find it easy to forget my place
within the realm of things that really are
at midnight, maybe past an hour or three,
when white noise drones within my empty skull
they ache, my eyes, and tether me to earth
one second gone consumes the midnight whole
the crowbar glow is wedged between the lids
the fading world resigns to pure mirage
in hours' time, the cycle will repeat
my sense of who i am will surely ebb