3:37 a.m.
I woke up in the night.
I could barely make out the
ever glowing red numbers on
the night table clock.
I rubbed the blur from
my eyes and saw
3:37 a.m.
The sheets had twisted around my legs
I was trapped.
Pillows offer me no comfort anymore.
Those silk sheets we
bought together,
are now incognito
ghosts.
Holding me down,
forcing me to swallow hard,
tears trickling from the
corners of my eyes.
I was alone again.
I could not nonchalantly
throw my arm over the
smooth, soft and sweating
of your back.
I had always thought you would
be right here beside me.
Your soft snoring,
reaching out to me in the night,
like a sound machine,
to soothe the insomnia.
I cant look up in the morning
and see you gathering your
jeans and socks from the floor
beside our bed.
No longer will you wake up
and see me, dimly,
sitting in front of the window,
the red hot tip of my cigarette
piercing the darkness,
probing like a beacon
of light after a nightmare.
I fall into a deep,
meaningless sleep
about 4.