Sleepless midnight poems (Session 46)

Some nights
when I’m not
able to do things
and the skies don’t
look starry,
I wonder.

Maybe the inspiration
took his path,
when it should’ve
gone mine.
Him, too.

The world of
words went
silent,
when it used
to be my
loudest.
I cringe.

I want to
scream
but I can’t
remember if I’m
allowed.

Because I remember
the calm but
I just couldn’t see
the tornado — hitting,
stumbling, crashing,
breaking.

And there are
no longer
little things
they are just huge.
The hole,
the sun,
the darkness.
They all,
swallow me,
burn me,
scare the life
out of my bones.

If he’s not
numb,
how can I know?
Was there any
other way of
being?
I can see the
past,
but it’s getting
blurry.
I try to see
the future,
but even my
present ends
in the floor
under my
feet.

It could be
drizzling,
raining,
hailing
it’s just all 
the same,
I’m into
the hurricane
and he tapped
the shelter.

_

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