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Three in the morning.
Waking up from another night of tossing and turning.
Wash the tears off.
Try to wash the images out of your head.

The food is tasteless.
The coffee, strength-less.
Barely feeling the ground as you walk back to bed.

Footsteps fading to the deepened breathing.
Can’t remember the last time someone lied next to you.
And the tears return.
And your eyelids burn.
Hate yourself for never meeting someone new.

He was right to tell you,
You had nothing worth fighting for.
He was right to kiss you one last time,
And head for the door.

So you neglect the sheets.
Avoid the fact that you will never sleep.
Decaying while you’re still alive.
The memory creeps.
How will you survive?

And it’s three in the morning.
A car alarm blares in your head.
As you lie on the floor.
Crying again.
You’re not gonna go back to bed.

© Sylwia Wielgosz.