A night like this

Where insomnia eats away at my limbs,

Constricting veins and

Refuting rationality.

A night like this when my mind

Unfolds like a shredded handkerchief,

Bloodied and torn by jagged memory and pliant flesh.

A night like this is when I would think of them,

Those i’ve lost, those i’ve failed,

Those i’ve


A night like this brings a special silence

Where only the pipes groan

As the water runs over.

I wonder what they would think at the sight of me,

Pale and ingrown,

Soggy origami on stained tile.

Pride is a stranger on a night like this.

A night like this where the rag of my own breathing

Of my own life, is unwelcome,
the act itself an insurmountable labor.

O god! If the void calls, then let me answer!

For on a night like this,

When the mind teems with resurfaced dreams long ago put to bed,

When a pen is more an anchor than a lifeline,

And the clock more an omen than a guide,

When vision becomes static and reality is a tightrope

Walked with little care.


On a night like this,

A beginning entices much less than an end.

So what can I do but wait and contemplate and forgive time

On a night like this?

What can I do but sit in blackness and await the day as it crawls,

So maddeningly marginal across the arched horizon?

Are you awake, too?

I have only the first streak of dawn as an answer.

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