2am is when the wolves call for me and I die slowly.

2am is when I end up sacrificing myself to you, so I can finally be quiet.

2am is when I won't fall asleep because all I have is this window to keep me company.
2am I look and see a tumbleweed in the streets, wandering aimlessly.

"That's my heart now set it free."

2am a song comes on the radio. It isn't familiar,  but it somehow describes everything I'm feeling, even right down to its melody.

2am I don't know who I am but all I know is I need a friend.

At 2am I will play this song until my head can't take it anymore. It's a mantra that won't stop repeating itself, and I love it.

2am I look into my sheets. I peer down and see your face. I reach to touch it but it fades away. Transparent you is very rude.

At 2am I will sing this tune I do not know. Therefore it will sound drunken, but I do not care because it reminds me of you.

2am where did you go? You used to be right next to me. Now all I have is oxygen filling the space where you would look at me and say, "I love you."

2am how did I end up this way?  I open my hands and see my veins. I hate them. I hate them because you used to run your fingers across them.

2am I grab the weapon of death. I can see my reflection even in the darkness. As my heart throbs of pain, my life is over and I am free, at 2am.

Whisper the words in my ear
2am and we won't sleep, too bad!

Tell me your worse kinda fear
2am and we won't sleep, too bad!

You can cry if you want to
Make me your refuge
2am and we won't sleep, too bad!

I feel your heart beat on my skin
I feel the energy deep within
I know what you're hiding,
Let me in!!

It 2am and we won't sleep, too bad!

                          2am
deep in the sheets of your bed.

the early hours of the morning, when light has yet to show itself, and the streets are quiet.

2am is not for the happy people.

it is not for the lovers.

it is for the shadows that finally feel accepted.

it is for the poets, who are still up because their mind is filled with an unimaginable amount of words about someone they love.

it is for the broken-hearted who have been crying since 9pm.

it is for the people who love but are not loved.

it is for the one who finally feel like they can be whomever they want to be (or need to be) at 2am. and only 2am.

2am are for the lost souls and broken hearts.
2am are for the lovers who became apart.
2am are for the sinners who wanted a new start.
2am is for me to heal the things that left a scar.

2am's are colder than overnight waters;
Frail hours manipulated by flames' want of being put out-
The prey is peace tormented by envy,jealousy,greed-haunted Insomniacs.

2am's-a regretting phase
to a drunk caller not returning to
his habitat,for a syndrome.
A shadow he cannot outrun!

2am's determinance of tenacity
remembering her roots,
Theatre of dreams for
an awaited by responsibilities
African first child.

2am's grip blood,sweat and tears
Of night-shoppers' preference
Of used goods;
In carts,even when wet
for its not about taste!

2am's feel for a diasporan's spouse
Once a patient veagan hastily entombed in a game,
Long demolished by poachers.

There's something about 2am
It's not quite midnight, but it's not too far into the day just yet
There's something about 2am that makes my brain run wild
Something that makes me unable to get you off my mind
There's something about it that keeps me up longer than I want to be because I can't stop thinking of where I went wrong
What I did to spiral out of control
Unable to retract my tears
There's something about 2am that makes every song seem more sad than it is
That makes every song feel relatable
That this really was a love gone wrong
I should've never gone back to you
I knew all along I'd just get hurt again
But there's something about 2am that makes me feel everything
Feel everything at once

Maybe, poets write because they have unstable feelings.
Maybe, poets write at 2am, in order to ease it.
Maybe, poets write to contain their feelings in to it.
Maybe, poets write *hopelessly.
Maybe, poets write at 2am hopelessly hoping, that, someone, on the other side of the earth, someone is awake to read the poem.

*And maybe someone awake, maybe, to care.

I want to walk with you
through empty parking lots at 2am
And talk about all the things that don’t seem real
At 2am
Like we’re in some kind of parallel universe
Where the world falls silent
And our stories echo through the night
We would be unstoppable
At 2am
When everything that could ever come in our way
Is fast asleep
With only you by my side
At 2am
I swear
we could do it all

It's impossible to know a person
Really, truly know them
Until you have a conversation at 2AM
Right before you fall asleep
The most human you can be,
There's no wrong or right
Just words filling the silence
Let me see your insecurities,
Your dreams,
Tell me things about you
That I wouldn't know
Remind me I'm not the only person
With problems and that
No one's exempt from suffering
I want to hear it all
Your heart and mind
There's no better time
For a lobotomy
No better time
To not be alone
I'm glad we got to philosophize
Because you don't really, truly
Know someone
Until you converse at 2AM
And it was a pleasure to meet
2AM you

Give it up,
relinquish those thousand thoughts,
the thousand hopes,
no one ever wanted to know.
Keep only the things they wanted to read,
the ****, the gossip.
The secrets shared between you and your lovers,
whispered in hushed tones
across mascara scarred pillows at 2am.

Bury the dreams,
that had no meaning.
The happy ones, full of lavender and vanilla,
But keep the nightmares,
the ones that left you screaming at 2am
that will make the hair stand up on the nape of their necks,  
and give them nightmares of their own.

Starve your soul,
till all that's left is the shell of a body
that they will praise, then critique.
Who needs souls anyway?
Without a soul, you remain forever,
undamned, unsaved,
alone, in the dark, at 2am.

Because its 2am
                                
                                                and im sitting in my bedroom alone

    thinking of ways to **** myself
                  thinking of reasons to hate myself  

                                                                  while you're sleeping



because I told you I was fine.

A clothes hanger
                   clutches a line
                   of paper lanterns
                                     lighting my next step
                                     on streets my shoes stick to
                                               from wheat beer
I hear the ‘Pit'                      coursing through cracks  
                    &                        inebriating aged clay bricks
                    ‘Pat”
                     of rain on rooftops
                                   & falsely take it
                                       for Charlie Parker's
                                                     'Hot House'
but it’s 2am near Tulane
  & they’ve graduated to
                  tracks from Tremé;
                  Brass jazz & barflies;
                  Mad Hatters & Mademoiselles
                                     dancing barefoot
                                     in the French Quarters
                                            under red fluorescent lights
                                               under cloud-covered stars;
She gets them drunk off dance & song;
Guaranteed to make locals
                      late to last call;
                      shows them back-country gems,
                        the beautiful ruins known only
                                                      by bayou gals
                                                            & city folk
outside,                                              in search of sirens
where the ceiling's missing,
dancing 'till their bodies taste like rain

They 'crash'
                    &
                       'splash'
                                       .....breaking through worn wooden floors
                                                          ­           & cracks in plaster walls
lead by the ‘Pit’                                                     back to the street,
                        &
                      ‘Pat’
                              as other strange drops join the dance,
                              descending from skies to rooftops;
                                                     Finding lower highs
                                                     in search of Bourbon Street
                                                          ­          lost & looking
&                                                                 near Tulane at 2am
my blue suede shoes are dying of thirst,
                                 stuck upon each step;
                                          lacking direction
&                                         looking for jazz
waiting to drown
      in the 'Pit'
                 & 'Pat'
                     & splash
                         of this daily rain dance;
                         Lose myself in this listening
                         as dreamers do
                             on the streets near Tulane
                             At 2am;

It’s 2 am
And the walls scare me
Because the shadows don’t look like me
And the moon is a piece of cheese
That is too bright.

It’s 2am
And the ink spills
And my hands are witness to the tragedy
The Dawn helps
But can’t get back what I’ve already lost

It’s 2am
And I close my eyes
Hoping for some peace
From my ravaged thoughts

I get shaken awake
By my mind reminding me of all the words
I haven’t written down yet

And suddenly
It’s 3am
And I write
C
O
C
O
O
N
With shaking hands.

I stared at the letters
That can start life again
Willing them to transform
Transform into some beautiful 2 winged creature.

I begged it to leave
This 4-wall enclosure
Because protection is only an idea

The walls are daring me to knock them down
Like the dominoes I secretly keep under my bed

It’s 4am
And the words are pouring out of my mind
But my pen can’t keep up.
I am drowning.

2 am
Knows all about us-
The love that was once lost
And how we found it
Just to lose it all over again.

I wonder what people think
When they read my poems
Do they think I'm just another
Case of unrequited love?
Oh, I am definitely not.

I just read this story
Of a girl who loved a guy so much
She turned into a bird
And sang such sad songs
The guy's bride heart broke and she died

2am
Knows all about my conspirational plans
I make with the stars
How what should be mine, what I love
I mean to ****** away from this world

This is
Not a poem about unrequited love
But distance
And the society that smirks upon
The lovers sighing in solitude

I just read this story
About this girl
How she loved a guy
Who did not love her back and
how that killed her bit by bit every moment

2m knows
How I wish I was in her situation
I could have loved him
And loved him and loved him
until I did not

But the guy I love
Is right now crying himself to sleep
Because he finally found love
But not where he expected it to be
Miles away, away from his reach

His love is true, her love is ever growing
But like every star crossed lovers
They have an inevitable tragic ending
But there is so much art in
an ending like this

2am
knows how the empty side of my bed whispers his name
"Close your eyes darling, in your dreams
I'll always be yours, forever and more"

2am Friends

winter has set the boundage, bars of chill, escape-urge killers,
self-imprisoned by our ruthless timidity, that both comforts yet,
worse violates our truthful, unwanted inadmissible-neediness by
purging the touches and the knowing kindage, this then,
this preface, your reminding of-as-of-yet untouched,
half-invitational, half-regret, half-cursed, whole red need for
2am friends
to fill the void that poems can n’ere fill

1/1/18

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

At 2am, you're on my mind.

And at 2am the world
looks a little different.
It is a magical time
where good plans go
bad and bad plans go
good and you can look
around you and not a single
thing will move. It is at
that exact time you feel
like you are all there is.
No other people, no
animals, not a thing.
It is you and the big world.
Such a magical feeling
can surely only be coupled
with a sense of incredible
loneliness, but if you can't
just sit with yourself at 2am
and not feel empty, then
what can you do?

*djm

2am

These 2am thoughts consume my mind like an entrée,
Devouring every square inch of my cognition.
Its always a constant war between my heart's intuition
And my mind's belligerence.
Redirecting my brain to consciously fall victim to making"mistakes" .


But It is only when the sun temporarily evaporates
and the night sky transpires
When images and memories of us flock in my head.
Like our careless rendezvous and lustfulness that became euphoric..

If I could just sleep,
Sleep maybe.
I'd sleep away the pain,
The result of these 2am thoughts.

I want somebody to sit with me on the rooftop at 2am,
talking about the world,
listening to slow songs.
I want someone who I can trust.
I want someone to live through adventures with me and who will love me as much as I love them.

When I showed up,
Out of breath,
Scared
At 1am
I did not think that taking off my coat could
Ever
Feel so intimate
At 1am,
It was as if I was naked, my arms were the parts of me that no one had seen
At 1am,
My coat was gone and suddenly so were my inhibitions
At 1am,
You pulled me into the bed,
Bliss
At 2am,
The fact that your mom didn't know made every feeling that much stronger
At 2am,
We did things I should be ashamed of
At 2am,
I felt so ******* amazing
At 2am,
We thought your mom was coming in (******* your cat)
At 3am,
My lips were numb
At 3am,
I still wanted more
At 3am,
It seemed you were done
You came,
And then left
At 3am,
I lay in your bed alone, hoping that we weren't
At 3am,
You came back and cuddled with me
At 3am,
You showed me way more than you have ever told me
At 4am,
We decided to stop
At 4am,
I remembered I was supposed to be at home
At 4am,
We talked, and laughed
At 4am,
You told me I was too loud
At 4am,
You kissed me goodnight,
Or,
Was it good morning?
At 4am,
I pulled my coat back on my shoulders,
And walked home alone
At 4am,
I was covered so no one could see me

At 10am,
I woke up thinking:
"wow"

Evert night at 2 AM
Different poems are written
Different words are scribbled
Different papers are crumpled
But only one thought she had
Yet, word can't help her convey the feelings
"Empty" has much more than herself
"Sad" is not sadder than she thought
"Broken" is more whole than her
"Hurting" ain't just bleeding just like her
And when words can't take the role
It's the blade that play with her
Every cuts has meaning
Everything is her unreleased feeling

My backpack ready for anything, I left for a voyage across the pond. As fellow passengers climb aboard I met a 27 year old traveling musician named Russ carrying his cajòn. He told me of his travels from Massachusetts and pending divorce. We related on this and exchanged CD's. Behind us sitting on the Ferry were two young girls working on a puzzle. Russ imposed himself and tried to impress them with his musical endeavors. These girls were in America from Germany attending college. One was 17 and the other was 18 but I am sure they knew better than to play into his hand. After talk of language and culture we disembarked. Russ invited me to his show that night but I had plans to meet a girl at a board game pub. I walked to the bus stop while smoking my pipe and caught the number 40 from downtown to a trendy neighborhood up north.

After I stepped off I found myself amongst the overgrown players of games and drinkers of fine beer. Brittany arrived and we chatted over IPA's. I explained my recent challenges to get the topic of divorce out of the way before we left for Mexican food. She was very open in saying I should play the field and not have a serious relationship. I agreed with her take but could not read her as well as I had hoped. She said I need to get the rebounding out of the way and explained that she too is struggling with commitment. Being 34 with no marriage or children under her belt she feels that therapy is essential to figuring this out.

We walked to our happy hour destination and shared Nacho's while drinking "Colorado Kool-Aid". Both of us having spent a lot of time in Denver we could relate on much but I felt there was an elephant in the room. Afterwards we walked to a nearby record store and browsed while talking about music and interests. She needed to leave soon having obligations to housesit and watch pets. Dog walking is her profession since her departure from the world of corporate accounting. We walked to her unkempt sedan and she gave me a ride back downtown. We talked of hanging out again but our schedule may not permit for some time. I wonder if she will entertain my company without reservation, only time will tell.

I decided to phone my old friend from Denver who lives near and devise another plan for the evening. The sun was still shining and I had no reason to return home yet. I walked to a nearby brew pub while waiting for him to meet me. I sat at the bar with another traveler named Dave. He is an airline pilot close to retirement from the state of Texas. We talked about my time in the Navy and my pending legal woes. He's been proudly married for 30 years and counts his blessings that he is still in harmony with his wife. My friend decided to meet me at a concert in close proximity to my date with Brittany. Once again I would take the number 40 uptown. Dave bought my IPA and gave me words of encouragement and complimented my persona. It meant a lot and I thanked him as I said goodbye.

While waiting for the bus I asked for information from a woman in her early 50's. She works for a tech company nearby but was happy to help as I had a more pleasant vibe than most of her young, urban, unprofessional colleagues. While unsure of my way she directed my move to get off at the next stop. I walked up the hill another seven blocks to the show. While smoking my pipe along the way another bus rider was two steps ahead named Nate. He was curious about my pipe tobacco and we gave brief anecdotes about ourselves. He offered to buy me a quick beer before my concert. I took him up on this offer as we walked into a nearby market. He purchased several large cans of domestics and afterwards we headed back down the dark boulevard towards the Abbey drinking our brew. As I arrived at the former church venue we parted ways peacefully.

I ventured into the bustling scene concealing my open container while finding my friend. I sat just as the opening act started. We enjoyed three musical performances but the star of the show was the beautiful woman from Denver that we both enjoyed during our time there. Feeling that we should explore the venue where Russ was performing we made our way there. I was sad to discover the brewery was shutting down before 10pm and the band was long gone. We decided to walk to the nearby singles bar playing music so loudly it could be heard from a block away. This strange place was crawling with many folks of the beautiful sort but nothing seemed to be attractive about it. We had a glass of wine and a shot of bourbon. I spoke to the fellow DJ for a moment but there was no dancefloor to be found. We decided to venture on.

We walked up and down the avenue and discovered another Mexican food restaurant, beaming with the young and the foolish. Our community seating was met with overly affectionate couples to our left and valley girls to our right. Our Tequila mules hit the spot with our Nacho's and late night platter. The girls spoke of Denver people which I thought strange. Why so much co(lorado)-incidence in one evening? I injected myself into the discussion and was met with friendly conversation. Unable to finish my Nacho's I knew I had fulfilled my share of fun for the night. This was the fourth time I had eaten nachos this week. We proceeded back to the urban adventure wagon and made our way to the slums of the tech-boom. My 2am slumber was met with an air mattress of great quality and woolen blankets.

I awoke at 7am to the clouded sunlight peering through the sliding glass door. I laid awake with my stomach turning from the many Nachos not yet digested. My housemates called me about needing to move my car for restriping the parking lot. Fortunately I left my keys so they were able to do this for me. I smoked my pipe on the patio while my friend "hit the gym". When he returned we decided to walk through the arboretum by the university and enjoy the sunny autumn day. Afterwards he dropped me off by the ferry where I waited an hour drinking beer at the commuter dive.

During my ferry ride home I walked up and down the passenger compartment looking for a fellow rider to play cribbage. I had no such luck and headed for the observation deck. While the city vanished behind us I struck up a conversation with a young lady from Manchester who had just returned to living in the US. We talked about the nature of selfies and the conflict of living in the moment. As we spoke a man approached me who had overheard my request for a card game. We walked back inside and sat next to an abandoned puzzle with pieces scattered about the deck. Mark introduced himself and we shook hands. It was not until he shuffled and dealt the cards that I realized this 45 year old Asian man only had one arm. His ability to shuffle and deal was impressive. His skill with cribbage was more than rusty, after one game I had a victory so great I felt guilty. He too is going through divorce and seeking a new job. It was a great way to pass the time with a fellow passenger.

As I readied myself for the porting I noticed a familiar face, a young sailor I served with in Mississippi. Our time spent together was met with sorrow as we faced similar career challenges. I had not seen him for several months but he almost did not recognize me. I had lost 50 pounds, left the Navy and become single all in a matter of a few months. I assured him I was on the dawn of newfound joy and wished him luck on his upcoming deployment. I patted him on the head as he seems like such a lovable scamp to me at this point. I exited the terminal to saunter back home. I smoked my pipe while crossing the bridge enjoying the last hour of sunlight.

I settled my belongings at home while serving myself a can of chili and a cold IPA on draft from my housemates tap. I joined him for the end of a baseball game in the den and shared a few moments with my community. I slept for a couple hours and then made my way to work. So much can happen in a day.

It's almost 2am.
I'm kind of laying here in the hot, unnatural heat.
I miss you a little bit.
My insomnia has been bad lately.
I guess you're okay.
I'll just write about you for awhile until I drift off into the colourless world of pretend realitys promising to bring you back to me.

It's 2am and she's not asleep
Planning for a life she knows she won't keep
Looking for stars while the sky cries rain,
She wants to let go, but she knows it's in vain.
It looks like she's given up on all of her dreams,
She's both happy and sad, the two extremes.
Picturing someone arriving at her door
A prince in dark armor, prepared for the war.
She gathers her weapons and looks to the sky
She'll fight a great battle, but she wants to die.
It's 3am now and the storm hasn't passed
She closes her eyes, finally, at last.
The last of her blood drips to the floor,
It's over now, her pain is no more.

Because your the one I think about at 2am when I lay here by myself with my thoughts only to me where nobody can take them away or barge into my mind without asking. I sit here and think of what it could be. What I would be doing right now with you not anyone else because no one else matters at 2am except for you.

11pm is for those who can't sleep,
bloods filled with rush;
because of the sweet texts they just can't wait to read.

1am is for the poets who just can't stop,
can't stop the thoughts entering --
entering their mind one by one.

And 2am is for the broken.
The ones who can't stop thinking,
Thinking of what might've been,
What could've been.

2am

The time I lay awake thinking about all the mistakes I've made and all the regrets I have

The time I spend running my fingers over my scars wishing I could take it all back

The time I waste dreaming about the future and all the memories I've yet to make

2am

The time that tears me apart

Awake again…2AM, Visions spinning in my head
Of bodies writhing, tangled in a carnal embrace
Thought evocative of thoughts provocative
Can’t get these visions out of my mind…
Of bodies writhing, sweat drenched
Pounding out an ancient beat, something purely animal,
Primal, untouchable by time and civilization alike
Somewhere I hope you’re suffering too
With visions that just won’t let you rest.

At 2am
Everything is
Either really funny
Or really sad

At 3am
Everything becomes
Even more funny
Or even more sad

And it all depends on how alone you feel