god, at this hour
everything feels like poetry
even the silence is blooming
with words
and i don't know
if that's a blessing or a curse
desolation
or just a plain old desire for more
or maybe just an echoed question
that i ask myself, and answer back
becoming my own interpretation
of each cryptic answer

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?

maybe it's a mistake
a confusing stanza to read, for sure
but hey, that's how it works
swirls around untranslated
in my mind
and i thank my lucky, silent stars
for the ability to strain out the bracketed pieces
and still appear sane to the world

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?