“For six months, I couldn’t sleep.
With insomnia, nothing is real.
Everything is far away. Everything
is a copy of a copy of a copy.
“With insomnia, you’re never really asleep;
you’re never really awake.”
~Narrator~ Fight Club
It’s 3:50 AM… I wouldn’t fault you for expecting me to scream right now but don’t hold your breath — I’m not going to. It’s too predictable. Too contrived. That scream. The one you’re expecting. I won’t give in to it, even though the script calls for it. The night is thick and still and my heart has stopped beating. At 3:50 AM it’s hard to know who you are. Or what you are becoming.
It’s hard. To hide. From yourself. At 3:50 AM.
I don’t want your sympathy or your understanding. I live for your scorn. Throw rocks at the stage, if you will. That is my open invitation. To you.
In the east, beyond the black yawn of night, the sky will soon give birth. To a new sun. A new day. It will make sense of the senselessness that roams the wee hours. This hopelessness.
What I am right now I will hide. Under my Thursday morning mask.
But for now, let’s laugh at life while death slowly knits rot into my soul. Let’s pound back vodka shots with the reaper while the world ends over, and over. Again. One minute at a time. At 3:50 AM.
Tomorrow seems a million years away.