3 a.m. knows
more about me
than any one
else I choose
to open up to.
3 a.m. tastes my
Tears, the blood
The pool of regret
That I am stuck in.
3 a.m. taunts me
Flirts with my demons
I try so hard to drown.
3 a.m. inspires me
To ink my sheets
To crumble my fingers
To breathe in caffeine.
3 a.m. worries about me
Why I stay indifferent,
Why I love too hard,
Why I trust too soon.
3 a.m.
Won't you be my reality?
Won't you blink in
The red of my
Lips?
Won't you give way
To the sun?
3 a.m.
Won't you touch
My naked soul?
The curves,
The scars,
The burnt marks,
that you inflicted?
3 a.m.
Won't you be mine?
Won't you be the salt,
The wounds,
The chapped lips,
The sedative?
Won't you,
Be my
3 a.m.?
YOU ARE READING
Mirage.
PoetryDisclaimer : I do not own the pictures, used with my poems. They are the property of their creators.
