at eleven forty-nine
maybe i don’t sleep at night because i can’t, i dread the next day where i have to justify even to myself my own existence, that i don’t want to wake up, i don’t deserve it. that even when the sun rises it will all be the same, nothing is gonna change i don’t want to look in the mirror and hate myself for the day and the next. i’m still as worthless as i was the day before, as lonely as i was the month before, as hopeless as i was the year before, that if i disappear no one’s gonna look for me nobody would bother to find the one who’s always been lost
maybe i don’t sleep at night because i want to be awake in the darkness when no one is, when i’m alone and comfortable, when i’m alone and i know why, when there’s no one around to look at me and patronize why i am the way i am, when i don’t have to rack my brain for ways i can hide my secrets to the person next to me, i wouldn’t know what to do if they knew so i lay there, my eyes open, isolated and safe and free.
