Everyone thinks I go to bed at 10
Little do they know that's when I awake
The real me, inner me, little voice inside my head that can't be hushed
all come out to say hello
Screaming and filling my head with terrible thoughts
It's in these next hrs that my friend comes to visit, my blade
The type of friend who you don't have to say anything to, he just understands
Helps me cope with the stress, loneliness, and numbness I feel  
I'll bleed out all my secrets and he's there to listen, never missing a drop
In the morning my friends will still be with me, just quieter, whispering,
But tomorrow night they'll be back loud and clear and we will talk again

It has been alleged that repeatedly dwelling on the past
brings nothing but dysphoria and nostalgia to the soul
but so does worrying about the unknown future
and I am not one of those who are quite
efficiently capable at living in the
present, one day at a time.
I am left, destructed by
my overthinking
mind.

Pulse;     life     lives    here
Clicking it's heels on  gum-speckled sidewalks    between     sirens and
Cigarette butts spouting carbon, Diamonds   at the right temperature,    
Polluting    for the time being
                    Wasted
In  drunken stupors under
Bright lights and the
                 would-have-been
             dreams of a has-been.

White crane fishing trackside for
Vestiges of nourishment from
Newark muck and Secaucus slush:
            Be aware;
Three-eyed tadpoles live in these waters,
Breeding alongside rotting corpses--
Mob jobs gone wrong and various
Plastic garbage.