It’s 3 a.m.

I can't bare the idea of going To bed early anymore. I simply must be way too tired To think, or feel, or deplore. I'm sleepy and my head is spinning, Around and around and around again, Yet the words still find their way to my head, Even though it's 3 a.m. The past and …

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Sweet melancholy

It's that familiar melancholy once again.  It's not good, and it's not bad,  Not happy and not sad;  Just the need  For that bleed  Of my pen. No epiphanies,  No regrets,  No triumphs  And no threats.  Just a distant, fading reminiscence Of shallowed, numbed pain,  Of a struggle once with restraint  And its eternal despair …