What Kills Me

the fireworks have all been used up,

the glitter and glamour long gone.

in this hotel room at exactly 2 a.m.

I’m thinking, “This place is too pretentious for my dirt-cheap taste.”

sitting on this bathroom floor with a half-empty cola beside me,

I’m wondering how I even got to this point.

it’s the late-night, early-morning rumination that kills me

when all is asleep and peaceful.

twisting and turning in bed,

the crunch of bones, the lullaby snores.

I hear delirious laughter in the next room

and I’m still sitting on this floor,

quite lost, quite confused,

still lonely.

and I realize,

there are only two kinds of people in this world:

The ones that weep when the world is in slumber

and the ones that sleep well because they know they are loved.

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