3:20

things are different,
in the dark. in the middle
of the night when I’m
the only one awake – even
the cats are sleeping, and
the birds not even dreaming
of their stupid little chirps
for hours yet – my mind
starts to play tricks
on itself. thoroughly unfun
little games like “let’s remember
twelve times I was
hideously embarrassed”
one hopscotching to another
reaching back as far
as I can remember;
or “how many moral failings
can I count in the next
hour”; or “let’s analyze
every interaction
I had this week to see
who hates me and what
I’ve done to deserve it”
and nothing stops it because
there’s nothing else
to do.

that’s when
I get up and smoke
yet another cigarette, shivering
in the cold air from the
open doorway, feeling
it’s my just punishment
for still being awake –
if I had gone to sleep
two hours ago
like I was going to, when
I actually felt sleepy,
I wouldn’t feel the need to do this
to myself right now – but
helpless
in the face of the relentless
assault of a mind
brewing up horrors –
like when you go too long
without eating and your stomach
starts digesting itself – I
desperately take the stopgap,
in the hopes that this distraction
will give me a break.

that’s why sometimes
I wait until dawn
to sleep, when at least life
is happening.

because
the darkness breathes
at me. things that are not real
seem dreadfully, hugely
powerful, and only daybreak
robs them of their strength.
I suffer for that choice too
but sometimes
it feels necessary.

I’m sorry. I fear
you daywalkers
will never really
understand.

lifeline

I’m sorry. I saw the drowning
look in your eyes – the one
I know so well from
the inside out, the one that says
everyone thinks everything
is fine but it’s not okay, I’m
not okay
– and didn’t throw
you a lifeline. I know
how it feels to be the only one
in the room who’s holding
on to a grudge because it’s
been with you so long it feels
like a part of you, so that to
let it go would mean losing
something of your identity,
even though everyone else thinks
you’re punishing the person
for old dead deeds and why
can’t you just get over it
already. you can’t. you’re
not ready. you might not
ever be ready. and he doesn’t
deserve your forgiveness.

you warm yourself
by the fire of your hatred.
I know.

the lost hour

at 10:56 p.m. tonight,
my time, you
posted a thing. so far,
normal.

but. I happened to notice
that the time stamp says
11:56 pm. are you posting
from the future?
am I secretly
in another time zone?
I did travel, but
I’m pretty sure we’re
still in the same slice
of the pie that is
Eastern Standard
Time.

so where
did that hour go?
I’m sure
the answer is something
mundane and annoyingly
prosaic, like the servers
are located
in the middle of the
Atlantic Ocean, or
some developer
fucked up somewhere,
but I like to pretend
that that lost hour
was a magical one.

in my mind,
I dreamed a million
worlds of dreams
in that hour,
and then forgot them
because I went back in
time to the present.

I know. I’m wrong.
but let me have my
delusions.

clocks

I’m sorry
that I interrupt so very often
in conversation.
if anyone takes more than
two seconds
to think about their contribution
to the discourse, I feel compelled
to speak for them, thinking I can
read their minds
and guess what they
are going to say. I know
it’s wrong and rude
and everyone hates it
but I can’t seem
to stop myself from doing it.

Continue reading clocks