pulling at my hair

There is nothing at midnight
to stand between me and the red red lines
around my tired eyes. The way I feel
at the end of the day, In the space between
now and when normal people are awake,
it’s such an empty pain. I want to slap myself,
a conflict of interest, perhaps. When
I can’t focus on the best parts, the ones
that only an hour ago made me
feel like i could fly. Now I cry.
And when morning comes back,
it will be nothing again, to anybody.
I will be sore to the bones of me
with a misery unfounded,
coffee drunk and ready to smile
at the faces I love, would they run a mile
if they met me at two in the A M.
Could they stand me when the light
shines through the kitchen windows, if
I voiced the way I felt
before it got there.

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