The second night,
    sleepless again.
Shafts of light on the wall,
    the house groans,
        I can hear everyone else breathe.

It is true that I'm the same person asleep that I am
                alive
        and that whatever drive I had
    flutters distantly
                        from my body
        dissapates
    a wasted energy
just watch me breathe

        And at 3 a.m. these things come back to tell you
    just how much they'v missed you
always under the quilt your grandmother made
        it seems like blasphemy to hate yourself there
                        but you do anyway

Shafts of light. Dew.
    It's just the way I should be able
to make a still image
    but sometimes that just doesn't do
        even in the lethargic way I tell about it

The Quiet Room breathes
        and everything I do is at fault
    in the way it falls dead at night
more alone than I ever could be
                keeping me awake
            until shafts of light
    blend into the white of the walls.