insanity - 3 A.M.

The absence of snow wakened me last night. The edges of the earth were folding inwards, and the trees were rattling their dry bones.

I thought I saw a stranger hunched in the corner; I thought I saw a forgotten bit of sanity scuttling across the floor.

The feeling I was lying in the wrong bed presented itself to me and then refused to leave. With infrequent breathing, I lay and listened to the sound of nothing humming somewhere in the distance.

I told you not to wake me til my eyes are blue, I mumbled at the blank, dim expanse of ceiling.

The sheets were taut over my body: a cocoon, a straitjacket. I found them comforting: knowing they, at least, would hold me forever.

My thoughts hopped around the room, with heartbeats as delicate as those of winterbirds.

Oh, how silent the birds are, was the last thought to slip across my mind, as once more I slipped into a sea of uneasy sleep.

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{Though not what originally inspired this piece, I dedicate this post to the wee hours of the morning and my tendency to wake up during them and exist in an incoherent state, where I am technically awake, but still asleep in many ways.}


{Photo is the cover of Jesca Hoop's EP, Snowglobe.}