I've never felt
This vulnerable
This lonely and
This cold
On a sleepless rainy night

I sent it
At three AM
On one of those nights
Where silence gets violent
And I'm alone in my head.

I told you about the
Tiny pink pills
And how
If I took eight
I would sleep forever.
I gushed that
They were hidden
Under the toothpaste slathered
Countertop
In my bathroom.

I told you I loved you
But that
You weren't enough to stop me anymore.

I did actually consider it.
It was one of those nights.
But at some point,
As I laid on top of my comforter
And shivered under the fan,
I realized that
You weren't going to wake up
And convince me out of it.

I also thought
About how my mom was
A light sleeper.
How the floorboards would sound like
Orchestras
And the cabinet
Would be the symbals
To her.

I fell asleep
Numb,
But naturally numb,
And woke up wondering
What you would say.

You didn't say anything.

I sit and feel... Different.
Some would have inspiration, some would have peace,
And some would be able to think about anything with
That clanking of cups and the whirr of a coffee machine.
But I can't describe how strange I feel sitting here.
Maybe the people sitting here aren't supposed to be.
The snobs giggling and gossiping in the corner,
The waft of marijuana coming in from just outside of the door.
This isn't a normal place. And I
Am not a stereotypical poet.
I write paintings in my mind and draw poems with my lips.
And, right now, they aren't encasing the rim of a coffee mug.
I don't have the money.
And I don't have the rhyme scheme to
Make fun of those who don't get it.