Melancholia After Midnight

A Poem

Photo by Masha Raymers via Pexels

it’s 3 AM again
and i’m wide awake
with the stories in my head
running strangely silent.

it’s like there’s a fog,
a labyrinth of haze,
keeping all the dreams
from gracing me tonight.

it would be such bliss
to close my eyes
and sink into slumber
as if nothing were wrong.

i would never say it out loud,
but sometimes i wonder
if life is just madness
concocted in my brain.

i pace and pace in memories
of long-ago days with you,
and it feels as if my mind
is just betraying me in doses.

but what does it matter?
it’s the past, and it can’t harm me —
can it?

then it’s 4 AM
and i’m riddled with unease
at the thought of another day
where i pretend for an audience.