arms reach from closets and legs drape from beds.it's 1 am and i want to cry. it's 1 am and all the other 1 am's
have got nothing on this. nothing on what sinking feels. nothing
on how i can feel my bones like how i feel my muscles -
how they stretch,
nothing on the way i curve and bow, dancing by myself for myself—
does that make it a selfish thing? most likely. more likely
are the whispers soon to follow, of the moon realizing i am still awake and wanting me to sleep.
on other 1 am's, i think the moon believes she is ugly. i think the sun knows that.
maybe the stars are her freckles, not ours. or
maybe they're just stars.
maybe they aren't meant to mean anything at all.
what can they mean to us when we don't even go to their funerals?
it's 1 am and my eyes are dimming. i wonder if it is the lights instead, but
it is me. always. a constant dimming that is always me and there's a secret hidden there,
|I love swimming, reading, poetry and of course, art. I have a hamster, and love to make crafts for him. Some of my other intrests include chess, board games, and science.|