Threetwentyfouram

sitting alone
in the dark drafty silence
rest has again escaped me
words, thoughts, ideas
encompass my brain and body so immensely
that a compulsion to bleed them onto the page,
to purge out all of the worry and anxiety ensues.
Those things that keep me too sick and full
to sleep the night through have reappeared
for a multitude of years now
and i have thus become an expert at the exact melodic hum
a symphony of passing cars makes,
the crickets choraling the way they only do while most of the world sleeps.
Would Alanis sing how ironic it is
that someone who is often scared of many her own thought
now spends nights unaccompanied and swimming in thick, heavy, dark aloneness
a silence so tremendous it shouts out
that while a life may be full of other ones
we are brought here to sing our very own aria
and then curtsy out.