Late Nights

Sitting in the darkness
Counting down the time
Waiting for the minutes
to move on down the line

I am a shadow
A trick of the light
Imposing itself on
Anything in its path

The cold is stifling
Burning hot
As I try not to think
Of everything I'm not.

I'm not real.
I am a figment of my own imagination
I exist only to fool myself.
And in fooling myself, I give myself life.

I mourn for the loss of her
The one I am better without.
I curse her name in the light
But in the dark...

In this suffocating, simple, silent, scenario
I languish in the stinging sorrow
sweetly sung in staccato tones by sirens
who seek nothing but the sure demise of poor hapless saps such as myself.

I can do nothing to stymie the deluge
ushered forth from the bloody, beaten pulp
That used to be the vessel that foolishly contained
my hopes for love and happiness.

So I sit in self-induced existence
crying for a love I never had, so could never miss,
with experience making me cynical
towards the possibility of ever finding comfort,

I sit and wait for the opportunity
To prove myself wrong
and find a happiness so great
I will transcend the sorrows that chain me here and cease to exist.