3am and the sun rises at 8.
the wifi is off and the glance
of the car lights peek through
the blinds, scratching the
floor, a ladder of light; it is
gone before I can climb it with
my eyes. I look up at the ceiling
and think of leaves, for the sixth
time in the past twenty minutes
and I shuffle and turn until 1 am,
not comfortable, but at least
more comfortable than before.
I clutch my chest and think of
tragedies. I clutch my chest and
think of-

1am and you are asleep. a floor and a
metaphorical mile away I tear at my
hair.
2am and you are asleep. a floor and a
day in the future I consider my words
and know that your scars are in their shape.
3am and you are asleep.
4am and you are asleep.
5am and you are asleep.
6am and you jolt away. a floor and a
call’s distance are my eyebags, which I carry
in my platforms. it is the same as usual
because you don’t know that I think of you
when I myself am too aware.