The dangers of writing at night.

Surrounded by

A golden bubble,

Spark amidst

The navy nightfall –

A cup of tea

To drown the shadows,

Melt the silence

And the nightmares –

Digital glow

To rival sunlight,

Familiar blank page

Stares me down –

Melodies beating

In my eardrums –

That song I heard

Last year, downtown…

The words are flowing,

But they’re foggy –

Reminiscence,

Relics of sound –

I can’t quite focus

On the meanings –

Drowning in

A sea of voices:

Laughing, shouting,

Friendly fire,

And the song

Plays on, unnoticed –

And there’s a certain…

Scent: sharp, minty –

At the edges of my hearing,

There from all those days ago –

The time I took that creaky night train

From that same decrepit station

With the guitarist and the newsstand

Where I bought that gum to chew –

Stuffed it in a pocket,

With my earbuds and the postcard

That I bought, a dollar twenty,

Just to send to you –

Sat composing,

All the way home,

Letters I’d write and

Oh, the things I’d do…

But once my stop came,

Melodies drifted –

Voices muted, greenish blue,

Words unsaid, page blank anew…

And it fell apart,

To pieces,

Music crumbling like paper –

Gone: the violins, the cellos…

And a dagger,

Slowly twisting,

Every time a fresh

New poison –

Minty fresh,

Almost a cheerful spite –

Haunts me yet

Another

Night.