there’s something about making it till this time of night. as if the whole world’s asleep and I am truly the last person conscious.

I can’t help but enjoy the hours of utter solitude that result in 3 am reflections, uninterrupted wild and strange.

Lately all I listen to is Keaton Henson & I don’t know how healthy that is.

Silence

Across from you, through dim stolen views, 

I peer upon your pensive expression.

As the sky hesitates into variant blues,

I attempt to keep bay my spilling obsession.

My thoughts they wander through the air,

they reach out, attempting to grasp;

Seeking, in quiet desolate despair,

your hands to hold, your heart to clasp.

The eerie night delicately creeps

as I long to whisper my soul into your ears.

But my voice lifeless and stiff, it sleeps

for the silence has awakened my fears.

Dead in my hands, the atmosphere sits.

With the rattle of my voice, suddenly  it  s p l i t s .