Soundless

2 am is like suicide, dark and alone.
the painful silence cuts through me
like a knife to longing wrists.
Time stops, the minutes crawl
by, it's to late to be asleep but
to early to wake up, like the
nights own version of limbo.

Tic toc, drums out the clock,
as if mocking my yearning
to close my eyes. click click.
And I think, I'm talking to a
clock, oh well, continue.

Outside the fog settles like
condensed milk, thick and ungodly.
and the cold taps at my door
waiting for an invitation to
make pimples on my skin.

At 2 oh 7 I am sitting here
conversing with a clock,
screaming at the cold while
watching the light play in the fog.
and yet I've never made a sound.