1am's are made for a special sort of prayer:
don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me
on the floor, bent over your knees, the hot, rolling tears are
libations, an offering, a sacrifice, a tribute to whatever god,
whatever deity, you think is listening. To please please please
stop this pain, stop this hurt.
This hurting and hurting from a depth in your heart that you
didn't know existed to the pit of your stomach,
it makes you want to hurl, it makes you want to scratch your heart out,
it makes you want to stop existing.
What even is this existing that people talk about? It is a body,
thrown into the world, raw and naked, clothed with a billion
emotions, that you pretend you don't have, that you hide from people,
that you deny yourself. You tell yourself it's ok, you tell yourself to not be sad,
you tell yourself you cry too much, you feel too much, you love,
oh, you lovetoo much.
you love, and that is why you're sprawled on the floor, now
3am in the morning, hair a sticky, salty mess,
throat dry, heart in a million pieces, and this poor, battered heart of yours,
you know, will not stop loving too much,
and you will never know how to love without
being consumed.
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