“4:54 AM”


A tightrope of light beams from the peephole.
An unwelcome visitor to a world of mirky, dense haze.
Unwanted tomorrows pinstripe the carpet, peeking gently through the shuddered blinds,
As the first bird sings.

The world is waiting with grave patience.
As you slip more and more away from its undying redundancy.
Nothing but a nuisance, a universal constant that continues without pause, driving the stake deeper into the wound,
As the first bird sings.

Sprawled on the warped hardwood, bodies of those trying so desperately to escape.
Darkness pulls a dense cloak over our eyes.
Night is deep and long yet never long enough

Pain within tranquilized by substances, sharing love with a weary soul.
The tenderness is smooth, sweet, encompassing.
The universe begins to tilt into your favor, the fantasy converging with a self-medicated reality,
A ceasefire to the rapid flow of insecurities, troubles, regrets, wishes, dreams.

The calm washes over you in a tingle.
The world has become yours, you have won.
You have comfort. You have security.
A mountain traversed haphazardly on which you've finally found the peak, the view voices in your head told you you'd find.

Drifting away from consciousness, this is your new reality.
The search is over. The feeling will never leave.
And simultaniously, you are both lost and found,
As the first bird sings.

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