I always find myself randomly waking up at 2 AM, it's become a constant occurrence at this point and I don't understand why it happens. I don't always enjoy it, especially when I'm already tired, but sometimes it's pretty peaceful, like this time was carved especially for me to write or read or do whatever makes me happy. Or maybe I'm just romanticising my insomnia ****.
*I might also change the title because I'm not a huge fan but I couldn't think of anything else.*
(P.S. you can follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)
2am talking to you... The hum of a neon sign, Emitting light so tranquil Purple Luminescence on your face. The sparkle in your eye, it brings life to all... The smile in your words In comparison everything so small.
In conversation vocalising the deep within
What can I say, 2am there is no filter Here.
The euphoria so intense all Existence has so much Distance, the world fades away...
Quizzed with the words you speak Everything begins to dull Everything so quiet and clear
The realisation of how much I hold you dear I'd hate to think what I'd do Without you here
The clock’s short arm is two lines over midnight, And the internet is a river of nocturnal creatures, My fishing rod is as plastic as my phony profile picture’s nose, A scripted act of deep affection a tasty trapping virtual bait, Singing mermaid ringing you in There’s nowhere else to swim.
Successful the catfish-lady catching a fish-man.
I wonder if there any catfishes on HP using poetry to draw us in?
I am not tethered Not yet Not ever I exist exclusively outside your gaze I belong to myself now You will not keep me here, In fear and in folly And I, I will not stay Though I am weary of what awaits me No! Let me rise, now The strength of my atonement and courage Will protect me As I wonder into a page without your expectations of failure. Yes! I choose to be free.
I have chosen sobriety for nearly six weeks. This is an ode to myself and everything I am becoming.
It’s that time again. It’s 2am again. It’s time to look to the right side of my bed and feel sad. It’s time to wonder why it’s still empty. It’s time for me to make a list of why it is empty. It’s time for me to be ******* myself. It’s time for me to wonder where I went wrong. It’s time for me to make a list of all my mistakes. It’s time to feel sorry for myself. It’s time for me to break my own heart. Again. It’s time for me to play over what men have said to me in the past. It’s time for my old tinder messages to haunt me. “Unless I can eat that *** and ***** from the back before marriage Christian girls aren’t as fun.” “Would you be interested in a nice thick 8 inch ****?” “I’m looking for a more physically intimate relationship.” It’s time for me to remind myself the reason why my bed is empty. Men want the one thing that I can’t give them, And without my body I am nothing to them. All I am is what’s between my legs and what’s under my shirt. And with my legs crossed and my top on, what could I possibly offer them? It’s time for me remember that while my choice maybe the right choice, It’s also the lonely choice. It’s time for me to remember that even though it feels like it’s my fault, It’s not. It’s time for me to daydream until I fall asleep. Again.