I think we're all different
When the clock strikes 12
The limbo between
The spilled ink of night
And the promise of a new day
Its the twilight zone
For only an hour
It feels neither late nor early
A limbo
That can never be knocked down
But hangs so precariously on the notches of our own grasps of time
Our brains
Such insignificant things
They say the average human uses only 10% of their brain capacity
But I think at midnight
We use 11%
Not in intellectual muscle but in creative perception
My eyes are no longer windows
But kaleidoscopes
Everything as broken and distorted
As the surface of the ocean
The tide being what resides in my soul that night
Our brains
See what they wish to see
They perceive what my windows make way for
And we speak of them as separate entities,
As if they made the decisions themselves
As if we are not our brains
We are
Our brains
We are
Our windows
We are the skys we see and the nights we don't
We are the blankets that heat us and the people under them that leave us like our toes sticking out, so cold
We are the land and the trees
Their branches reaching the place we dream of in books and crosses
We are the highways and skyscrapers
The place we dream of in cornfields and boredom
Tearing down our clouds and rivers
Mother nature's long nails raking everything down until there is nothing
But midnight.
We are our hearts
The thing we blame our pain and joy and suffering and love on
When all it does is pump the sweet nectar that keeps us alive
Our brains are our hearts.
We are midnight.
