2 Past Witching Hour

Darkness cascades over a cliche moment of loneliness.

Circulation fails and my hands go numb,

as I stare at a bright screen watching the rest of the world go by 

at 2 past witching hour.

Her dreams are sung softly from her subtle movements 

I try not to wake her with my sleep filled eyes,

my tongue tipping the iceberg of a bad choice.

I'm awake.

my heart is keeping me up with lonely rhymes of mid night's touch,

His squinty eyes and crooked smile all but sealed in carbonite,

And locked behind my iris where unheard stories lay

and words I've always meant to say,

just diminish, abscond from the tight remains of a body broken.

The kiss of his breath against the nape of my neck and the ruins of my curves left beaten 

not by his hands but by the numb that spreads through my fingertips.

I sit here,

watching the world go by and what a fragile thing life is,

when you're barely learning to fly.

When the nip of his cold teeth on your naked thigh is the only thing,

that gets you by and the drums beating in the distance become louder,

Only until I've realized,

it is only the sound of my life against his rib cage.

and I sit here,

watching the world go by at 2 past witching hour,

trying my hardest not to wake her,

while I silently think about pen against paper,

the jolt of his life against the everlasting agony of mine,

and here I wonder if he's awake,

trying not to wake them,

as he realizes his life against mine is all that matters.

but false hope is as bad as broken dreams and unattainable goals.

forever wandering, forever wondering 

at 2 past witching hour.

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