It’s 3 a.m.,
And I imagine the only other ones awake,
Are the tired, the troubled, and the lonely.
I’d be one of the last of the three.
It’s said, that as it gets colder,
People come closer together,
But I don’t feel anyone sleeping next to me.
If it was so simple,
I’d like to think I’d have done it long ago,
But Santa can’t fit a soulmate under my Christmas tree.
I’m beginning to think,
That even if you like someone for who they are,
And not just the relationship they can represent,
That you can be yearning for love anyway you can get it.
We are all; free-basing cups of hot leaf juice,
In place of a pair of hands.
Jonesing for a soft voice to whisper
Those three words in our ear.
Indulging in brightly colored bottles,
Of acrid smelling liquids, for a momentary high,
Only to wake up next to someone,
With whom we do not remember when we fell asleep.
Craving to have someone,
When we wake up at night, hold us,
And ask if we’re ok.
Desperate, seeking out strangers,
In shady places,
Trading our money,
For just one night of something different.
Or we reach out to anyone, someone
Or entertainment on a web,
To get some kind of escape for a time,
But we may yet regret later,
When we come back down from it all.
We pursue others even though we should know,
That we have no chance.
Really, we’re chasing after distant hopes, and fading dreams,
Of waking up in the middle of the night, with someone,
Who we feel lucky to be next to.
We fall asleep crying, with some voice crooning to us on headphones,
Because we were alone on Valentines Day.
We settle for people who we don’t really love,
Or who aren’t really the best for us,
Just because we think at least somebody cares!
We starve, and cut, and hate, and sweat, and scream, and wish to die,
Because we don’t feel that we are worthy to be loved by someone else.
And we cry, endless, oceans of tears,
Before the monolith tower of Seeking True Love that rises to the Heavens,
Because a cartoon mouse reached out from a screen and told me,
As his white-gloved hand took mine, that I could dream.
And endless bards and singers,
Inspired and gave us hope,
That somewhere out there was someone for us,
Someone who would make all the times
In which we bled in the name of our broken hearts,
Worth all the pain.
And so I dreamed about true love, and never stopped,
Even when the rope grew tight around my neck,
Even when I dropped the fifth bottles of pills into the trash can,
And even when I drew the razor blade across my flesh.
But I still hoped and I still believed,
And I still do today.
Is Love an addiction we have forced upon us,
Or is it the dreams that we chose to keep,
That force us to the limits of our tolerance for survival,
And in place of needles,
Kisses and words,
That we wish to keep?