An Hour

The fans rattling again. 
It's not the only thing shaking in the darkness.
But it's making such a loud racket. 
I keep it on anyway. 
I'm afraid the silence will kill me. 
I fight sleep like it's tangible. 
You're always waiting there. 
Just past consciousness,
standing in the shadows. 
It's always the same.
Your backs to me and it will stay that way.
We're standing in a light rain,
the sun just faded. 
I know every second that's about to happen,
yet every time it's like a new cut, over and over.
I say all the same words.
I say all different ones. 
It never matters.
This story has unfolded a thousand times.
But it's different every time. 
Sometimes I chase you. 
Sometimes I scream.
Sometimes I beg. And curse. 
Sometimes it's you instead. 
You won't look at me
because hope is a deadly thing to give. 
You know I'll always tell myself its there. 
We all see what we want. 
Especially when we don't want what we see. 
Back in the dream, it's coming. 
The part that will sit in the bottom of my soul.
Gathering weight, gathering dust. 
You're in front of me,
but you couldn't be further away.
I'm on my knees. 
A promise on my lips.
A disaster in my heart. 
You step away. 
One step, two, four. 
Someone has been hammering my chest.
I'm awake.
Stuttered whirs of a broken fan. 
The long length of the night stretched out in front of me.
It's only been an hour.

This poem is about: 
Me

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