1:02 AM


Lying awake when I feel like writing a song, writing a poem,

I pull the covers up on my bed and crawl on top of a perennial plane.

When there are too many beautiful things to say,

That’s when I know I’m insane.


I’m so glad those still nights are behind my back,

I was so young and stupid, knocked out and mild.

Now with the wind in my face, whipping my shirt up, even if it’s the last I remember-

I am young and stupid, now watch me run wild!


This place is dark but it’s intriguing,

And I am too interested to not be brave.

I come alive in the wind so I evermore run into the storms,

I am not afraid.

You can not bring my heart down,

Because the rain is my parade!


Boxes full of notebooks,

Notebooks heard what I wanted to do.

And despite how the notebooks have always been there for me,

I lie here thinking how a notebook cannot hold me the way I need you to.


1:02 AM and I wish my sleep rest in peace,

I’ve left it behind with the pen in my hand and the rhymes from my head.

I don’t care this sleep deprive if it makes me feel alive,

Cause we sleep forever when we’re dead.


I forgot I had meant to be sleeping by now,

I’m sort of lost in this power,

Ever since these rhymes will not cease to own me

And I’ve been listening to the same song for an hour.


The forest is a wallpaper in a room without walls,

A windblown field is a painting to a brush strokes pull.

So absolute like the secrets I want to sing;

I think you’re wonderful!


Looking backwards looks different,

Somehow it becomes a cinematic strife.

Staring my own face down the mirror, in spite of things unsure I still have to admit,

Somehow I love my life.


When I feel like concluding a song,

I look to the covers on my bed and dive bomb from the extended analogical sky.

Drifting off to thoughts of my favorite dream,

I yawn and wave my 2:20 stanza goodbye.



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