Circling Night

Everything kinda sucks
At 4 am the night isn’t warmer
However closer the sun is to the horizon
Only brighter street lights and tree stumps

Enough waiting for midnight to pass
And my legs feel numb
Colder than the air around them
Drained from all desire to walk again

The ceiling could collapse this very second
But my body would stay still
No sense of danger
Although the fear would exist

The same kind of fear outside
Waiting behind the door
The same kind of feeling felt
From closing the bathroom door

No light in or out
But there is definitely something there
Can’t reach it or seek it
There

Walls painted black close in
Turning my bedroom
Into one big recycling bin
For unwanted trash

For silent pity
And whispered screams

For broken lamps
And cheap tears

The birds only singing about
The delay of one more night
After waiting for hours
For one more minute to pass

Crocodiles, canteen jars, broken clocks on the wall
And the stool is upside down
With the wood of the desk sticking out
From crashes but cars without
Puddles of pudding growing mold
Where sad foxes play with dust bunnies
No adult-rated content in their deaths
Just censored subtitles of their woes

Their anger scripted as comedy
For the conveniently placed characters
Outside my door
Wait

One more time maybe
They’ll listen this time
Or maybe they’ll open the door
And laugh at my naked thoughts

Barging in while I’m changing
To a more comfortable tone
For the viewers’ pleasure
So to each their own

Except for the cast of the show
Sitting behind the desk
Hiding mismatched socks
Hiding an unbuckled belt

Hiding the fat
And the ugly
And the sad
And the lonely
And the broken from all the wishing
To passing planes passing as shooting stars

There is no more space in my chair for me
With my legs unmoving
And the silence flooding

I can quit right
Maybe that’s the relief
Knowing I can sit somewhere else
Hugging the head of a tree
At noon
When the night is gone

And still, it’s there

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