3:30 A.M Thoughts
a weird poem by Haley Monday
I can’t afford a therapist,
And I don’t think I need one.
But I would like a listener.
My ceiling is boring and half assed.
I’d rather be looking at the stars outside.
Feeling the cold earth under my reddened toes.
My eyes are open.
Brown and hazy,
But not alive.
Feeling like soup.
I want to swirl down a drain,
But I don’t want to get lost in the sewer pipes.
Can’t seem to stretch my toes far enough,
Can’t seem to pull my hair hard enough,
Can’t seem to keep friends long enough.
I feel like crying
I don’t know why.
And it makes me think.
I think about the boy I like.
I think about the people I’ve lost.
I think about the voices I miss.
My arms feel numb.
It’s 3:30 A.M I should sleep.
Closing my eyes I count sheep.