3AM
3AM thoughts are not a thing of beauty.
3AM thoughts haunt you.
They do not care if you have school the next day.
They do not care if you have to wake up early the next day.
Hell, they do not care if you've stayed up the past week because of them.
3AM thoughts are romanticized.
They are not something you want.
They are not something you need.
They are not something you desire.
3AM thoughts chill you to the bone
They cause anxiety
They cause bad grades
They cause chaos
3AM thoughts cause tears.
They do not fill you with happiness
They do not fill you with hope
They do not fill you with future goals.
3AM thoughts haunt you
With "what ifs"
With "why wasn't I good enough"
With "will I ever be good enough"
3AM thoughts fill you with questions that will never be answered.
"What if I was skinnier"
"What if I was prettier"
"What did I do"
3AM thoughts are all about you.

i want to write a poem
and list all the things that haven't broken
in your world
not everything has fallen apart into
those pieces you see all the time
not everything is all tears and blood and heartbreak
because there is so much more
hiding under the surface, that you
are trying not to see
why aren't you trying to see it?
all the smiles and laughter and words
that we shared
what about that time we stayed up until 3 am talking about
that book you like
the one I don't even like
or understand
but 3am is the time to listen to happy things
not the sad things about death and the tears you have
so stop thinking about that at 3am
spend those thoughts in broad daylight
because things will always look better
with drops of sunlight falling on them instead of
tear drops
stop dropping tears on the things that are
already sad enough
you have enough sadness so stop
focusing on the things that make you upset
and focus on the laughs you had
and the smiles you got from a walk through your life
and the happiness that we shared all the time
or do you not remember that?
do you know remember how I laughed with you
how I laughed even though your jokes weren't funny
and no one else was laughing except for me and you
doesn't that mean anything
to you?
don't you remember how I held you through the dark times
and told you that it's okay to be sad
everyone is
but no,
you don't remember how I told you everyone was sad sometimes
you think you're the only one who has darkness inside them
to you everyone else
is just enjoying the sunshine
while you are crying at 3am
what world are you living in?
everyone cries at 3am
they can't help it
the world is so warped and twisted around them that
they try to grin at 3am and laugh along with
the rest of the day
but no one does
all that comes out is tears
tears that aren't fake no matter how much you think
everyone cries at 3am
they cry in their sleep
they cry tears huddled up in bed
they cry on the bridge as they try to end it
they cry as they get the call "it's over. I don't love you"
they cry as their beloved pet fish slowly sinks down into it's tank
they cry as they realize that you don't know that
they cry too.
they cry tears of blood sometimes
or just tears of water that they haven't drank in a month
not everyone shows how they broken they are you know
some bottle it up and try to enjoy the sunlight
but the problem is that then it all comes out at 3am
when there is no light to shine on their problems
there's only darkness to show them what they think
they think they're all alone and that no one cares
enough to check up on them, hiding in the dark
but you can do it all better
you can push past the urges at 3am
and smile instead of cry because
you can do it for them
dive deep under the ocean your tears have formed because
not everyone has to cry at 3am
you can make it.

By. Lauren

It's 3AM where are you?
It's 3AM I called you.
It's 3AM I still love you.
It's 3AM and I just got the call.
It's 3AM why'd you do this?
It's 3AM and you're still dead.
It's 3AM and I miss you.
It's 3 years later and I still cry at 3AM.

It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break

it's at 3am
i cry
i cry for help
i cry for love
i cry for lost hope
i cry for crushed dreams
at 3am
i cry in pain
i cry with jealousy
i cry silently
cry to be seen
at 3am i cry
i cry with my memories
i cry with my pen
i cry as the world around me
sleeps.
at 3am
i weep to the moon
i weep for the lost souls
the people i misplaced
i weep with the man on the moon
and when the clouds obscure
i weep on my own
3am, sleepless nights
with aches as deep as my bones
tears behind my face and
sobs behind my throat
at 3am
i run out of words to use
i miss my muse
i run out of things to say, that
describe my brain, i-
all i can say, is...
at 3am, i cry

Alone
At 3AM
Under a bridge
Contemplating what life
Means to me

Alone
At 3AM
Under a bridge
Wondering why
It always has to be
ME

Alone
At 3AM
Laying on a swing
Wondering why
I cant just eat

Alone
At 3AM
Laying on a swing
Just thinking why
Did he have to touch
ME

Alone
At 3AM
Under a bridge
Hoping that you
Can make me feel

Alone
At 3AM
Hoping one day
You say you love
ME

ALONE
In my thoughts
Getting dragged down
And drowned

Why cant I eat?
Why cant I imagine anyone wanting me?
Why cant I sleep?
Why cant I stop thinking about what they did to me?

I want to fade away
Dissappear at 3AM
Somewhere far away
Somewhere I dont have to be

Tick Tick Tick.
3am.
3am. see. that's when the
clock broke and I broke down
Put my pride aside and
decided I'd take ink to my crumpled up heart
to write you a letter
with the tainted blood you left flowing through my veins
the, clock broke and now I'm wondering when mourning you ends
and morning begins again
3am and I'm accepting the apologies that I never received
3am and i'm coming to terms with the lies that I never believed
I was always blissfully ignorant to the truths you kept as secrets
painfully aware of all the lies you cowered under
3am and I'm simply searching for the
truth in real ties and the pleasure in pain
Can you give me that?
I'm fixin' on how to rewind time, and fix the
hands on your clock
you know
so that they match mine
my thoughts sit on a grey cloud in my mind
and I realize.
I can't write anymore.
without you--I can barely even breathe
so tell me...how am I
supposed to place two words standing together
while this whole time I've been on my knees
tick. tick. tick.
3am, that's when the clock blocked and my hand stopped
how am gonna finish this ?... I guess I'm not.
****, writer's block.

Everyone was somewhere else after 3AM
and the world seemed to fall into a fascinating silence

I was alone with my mind
There was nothing and no one that could interrupt the journey of my thoughts
I could feel the thin, gentle breeze flutter playfully along the back of my neck
The sounds of creaking floorboards and rustling leaves dominated

My mind was clearer after 3AM
Although I was drunk with fatigue
My mind and thoughts were intact

I could feel and hear the universe working at 3AM
Even though I could not see it at all
It had made me realize how beautiful the world truly was
after 3AM

But its raw resplendence was only evident
beneath the bustle of the crowds
and the panic in the streets
And that was only after 3AM

k.m.

the moon sits, on the branches of the tree
outside the window of my door
the wind whistles it's normally unheard tune
this is the time for it's solo
the fridge hums and floors creek
and there's a rattle from the lone car thundering by,
at 3am.
my mind races, while other are at rest
a pen in my hand, rather than a pillow under my head
really late turns into really early
my words are now silent, scribbles on paper
every feeling I've ever felt plays like a movie reel in my head,
at 3am.
my never dying love for you is loudest and
your faults are perfections
my once strong will is non-existent, just like
all the ****** up things you've ever done, so
I let myself miss you, and it feels even darker
than the blackest of moonless nights,
at 3am.
If I close my eyes, I can see your face
I smell you in each breath
let my tears drop to the page
don't even try to push it away
while my mind turns to liquid and pours out the tip of my pen,
at 3am.

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"

God, I hate 3am!

You make me late for work and grind my mind into bite sized peanut butter cups.

My thoughts are not a drill,
but they ***** me like Debbie did Dallas.

                     *really? You're doing ****
                  references now? *

*******!
YES, I said **** in a poem!

                  *who are you talking to? *

YOUR MOTHER!!!

always voices at 3am!

Voices like shadows barely perceived on the edge of your ear.

                       *you can't hear shadows *

No one ******* ASKED YOU!


Sleep is a midnight UFO hovering behind an old farmhouse.

You may have seen something... once, but you can't prove it really exists.

Not at 3am when shadows walk like peeping Toms passed your window.

Not at 3am when your eyes are shot and your skull tingles like peppermint body wash on a squeaky clean *******.

What the **** am I saying?

I don't even know anymore.



©Nathan A. Brock 2022

I dreamt that I'd tell you,
  I dreamt I'd convince you.
I dreamt you would love me
and I too would love you.
I dreamt of perfection,
a dream so romantic.
I dreamt you would smile
and carefully panic.
I dreamt you would hug me.
  I dreamt we would both see,
together we're better -
  I dreamt you weren't choosy.
I dreamt up the ways
of how I could tell you.
I dreamt up bouquets
and a time and place too.
I dreamt that I told you.
  I dreamt that I could do.
I dreamt that it happened.
  I dreamt of a breakthrough.

instead i told you
at 3am   drunk   on facebook
*and i took it back the next morning

3am, my bestfriend..
She certainly knows me in my most unadulterated form...
My anxieties, my fears, my frustrations...
3am, my bestfriend...
She is really good at keeping secrets..
For when I wake up in the morning, no body knows a thing
3am, my bestfriend
She sure is a good listener..
Listens to my sobbing, when I stuff cloth in my mouth to make sure I dont make any sound...
3am, my bestfriend
She is also a good counselor
Consoles me till my.heart is empty, till my eyes are dry...
3am, my bestfriend
I dont doubt her loyalty
I know she ll be there for me, every time the soul in me cries for help

3am the Enemy
3am the demons come out to play
coursing through the soul
the heart- it’s prey
The mind- the playground
monkey bars
and jungle gyms
a place where ‘what-if’s’
hang and linger
the air is pungent
and regret permeates
the night humidity
all but makes the stench lesser
putrid like rotting garbage
like the doll you
had to keep you safe
as a little child
that since should’ve been thrown
away
years ago.
the haven for mold
and dust mites
and other things toxic
3am
human’s one true
enemy.

i want
big, doe eyes
     that you can't take seriously
even when i'm yelling at you
          face red, voice scratchy
at 3am
                      to leave.

i want
soft, wispy hair
       that you'd twirl round and round
telling me you *love me, i'm your baby &
                     eyes red, voice low
at 3am
                           i'd tell you the same.

i want
a nose only fit for pleasance
        that'd allow me to enjoy the roses
you brought to apologize for coming home late
                               hair up, voice hushed
at 3am
                            and not the alcohol on your breath.

i want
featherweight skin
        so when you pull me by your side
there is only a thin layer of cells between our hearts
                            noses turned, voices unheard
at 3am
                               i hug you closer.

i want
a burning ambition to make things work
        that would keep this alive
whatever this may be
                    skin tight, voices livid
at 3am
                    waking up the neighbors.

i want
to be 80 pounds again
         so you would carry me back
when i fall asleep in the car, hand clasped with yours
                             mind on hold, your sweet lullaby
at 3am
                                sending me back to sleep.

oh,
         i'm not trying to be perfect
i just want you to stick around a little longer
                      deep down
i know i can change
                      but the problem is you

Being thin
is not going
to fix you,
because no matter
the number
on the scale,
you will still
call me at 3am,
begging for a
reason to live.

I guess we will never know
What was said
During those 3am phone calls
You were always too drunk,
I was always too drowsy.

I guess they can be
Our lost conversations
The content kept secret,
Even from ourselves.

I guess if you ever miss me
You can find me,
Somewhere,
In those 3am moments
It's just you and I,
Alone,
In the black night.

What do you do at 3am when you're tired and bored and its raining?

Maybe this is punishment.
For eating those grapes before you paid for them in Sainsburys.
Or that time you forgot who Buzz Aldron was, or when you took pleasure at beating a five year old at Cluedo.
She started crying, and even then, you still
would not relinquish your title.
Maybe its for that time
You were accidentally racist  to the chinese guy taking your order.
Or when you forgot to buy your mum a birthday card, or when you made fun of your best friend for not being taller.
Or when you said, 'Maybe
selective breeding in humans,
Is not such a bad thing after all.'

Yes, Its definitely punishment for that.

But maybe its for all the litter you've dropped, inadvertently or on purpose.
Or for last week when you accidentally kicked the cat, or for stealing those library books,
For swearing at kids
and blaspheming at the dinner table,
Christ!
Maybe its for nicking your brothers chips, even when you're not really that hungry.
For halfhearted apologies handed out like office stationary, for scoffing at most modern art.
For not revising when you
Really, really should
...But telling your parents you are.

But even with all of this, isn't the punishment, just a little bit too harsh?

Well now you are sarcastic, and bitter and pessimistic at least 90% of the time.
And you do hide the fact that you quite like country music, and that you have a blanket with sleeves (and you genuinely use it) and that you're really rather patriotic at heart.
And you didn't say all that stuff when you should have.
And you said all that other stuff you didn't mean
And you spend far too much of your time
Invested in impressing the people you're never going to see again.

And you realize all of this... at three o'clock in the morning, alone but for the fading of the rain.

And you swear to yourself, with all the fervour of a tired insomniac. That tomorrow.
There. Will. Be. Change.
But in the cold, harsh light of nine o'clock the same day. Six hours after you fell asleep. You resign yourself to the fact that last nights punishments can all be absolved, by a nice warm cup of tea.
And despite what you say
at 3am when you're tired and bored,
listening to the sound of the rain.
You will always be a pessimistic idiot, with delusions of grandeur.
That watches too much American TV.

It's 3am again
Loneliness came and went
***** became my friend
And we talked about life and death

The seductiveness of darkness took control
I gave myself in and let it take my soul

this kind of 3am is not for the happy ravers
nor the lovers asleep in each others arms
this 3am is the boy in your maths class with the sad eyes
and the girl who hasnt eaten in a week

afraid that if they fall asleep
they will fall in love
with the peacefulness
of the dark

We float through life
like paper through the sky,
never able to land on its own.
We stay so quiet
like the world at 3am,
too tired to move our lips.
Its 3am again and the paper has escaped.

The sun got too hot
or the paper got to close,
ash is all that is left.
The day stayed too long
or the night came too late,
the silence is no more.
3am is gone and ash is all that's left.

Staring at the clock,
waiting for 3am.
I know it will come again.
Staring at the stack of paper,
waiting for a breeze.
I know it will be free again.

I crave the mute of 3am
and the unfettered paper,
chasing time,
chasing air,
until all is still.

I've never felt more than half an hour:
Insomnia trickles down until the black-tar-ridden-sap oozes onto
My partially open eyes.
And, to say I've never been in love.
Emotions rise up and retreat-
A constant heaving of the battered
Chest- saving us from finding out
How frightening life is.

Murmuring our sordid laments to Lady Death,
Beneath the murky glow of hotel room bed sheets
And fluorescent dollar store night lights,
Too vacant to summon anything more than a whimper
From our submissive minds.

Nothing ends, here.
One upon another, words flow effortlessly
Out of our cavernous mouths,
Clogging our chests with empty syllables until
We forget why we ever tried to do something more
Than care.

Depression can be felt anywhere-
The air slowly seeps from the hissing
Caracas of a worn out tire,
Or the lungs of anyone
Still enough to remember.
Mindlessly chanting Hail Mary's,
We taunt time with our penchant for immortality
And hospital lobby greeting cards,
Until Aphrodite descends to sell her soul
To the highest bidder.

Mother, I have killed the world
With a time bomb that will never detonate:
Ceaselessly ticking on and on-
A reliant backdrop for something
Too harsh to exist in silence.

Our hearts have fallen from our sleeves
And into films, romance novels,
And 3am cooking infomercials.
Land of the living:
The walking dead,
The too-afraid-to-tell-you-how-I-really-feel,
The product of a broken people
Who traded silence
For a language full of mixed intention.

Children of the night,
Blindly parade around before noon,
Trying to buy redemption
At a corner store market
For half the price
Of the pulpit.

Afraid of hearing the latent echo of
Our own pulsing hearts,
We fill our lives with white noise
And intimacy, too stagnant
To exist without our 3am spirituals.
Anxiously arranging our feeble lives
Around minutes and hours-
Slaves to false agendas,
We battle the dark, secretly,
until soon
We lose sight of the purpose
And get caught up in the motion
Of a world too drugged out on
Redemption
That we forget our own names.

It's 3AM
and I'm up again
listening to the
rushing breeze.

My head hurts
and my stomach
gargles,
And the wind
continues to
sing.

It's lonely here,
at 3am:
No creaking floor
or shutting door
or faucet with a
handle turned.

Just me here,
hungry-
listening to the
breeze.

It's the color of her eyes; the color of the sea. In both you could drown, or find God himself. It's the space between cities. Road signs & right turns, and the quiet determination to unravel in her arms. The sheets on her bed at 3am, where she whispers "I love you" and you've never been so sure of anything. The breath you exhale after you kiss her; it's the color of the blood pumping through your heart. The heart that she keeps beating. The heart that has her name written all over it. It's the heaviness in anticipation. The insatiable desire for a minute, just one minute. It is not the opposite of passion, like once suggested. It is passion itself. It is the sound of whispers. Her breath on your neck, and shivers down your spine. The color that fills in the weeks until you see her again. But most importantly, it will always be the color of her eyes. And it is no coincidence they are the color of the sea.

It's 3AM.
I sit in my room with nothing but the glow of a single
halogen
lamp.
All around me is darkness.
I stare,
coldly,
into the abyss of the space around me,
heated only by
the lamp.

For a second, I wonder.
I wonder about
the lamp.
How it fends off the darkness.
How it radiates a glow into an empty room.
How it doesn't do, or think;
how it just 'is'.

I wonder what it all means,
and I wonder why it matters.

Then, I just sit.