At 3:01 AM
I always get washed up
by the tides of dreams
to the shores of reality
where sands of my existence
stick as a scar on my face
and now the oceans of dream
can’t wash it off.
It just burns when I try
scars turn to identity
stupor becomes vigor.

Aligned and disoriented stars
burn with renewed malignancy
for the dreams I had.

It must be lonely up there,
I wonder if they ever dream,
I wonder if they ever love.

With nothingness paralyzing my head
and spreading like fire
I give in to this void
from where I was born,
where I would die
where I would now exist
for this rest of the night.