3 am

smoke signals
on your doorstep
in the night
freezing cold
burns
into your soul
as you
stomp out the light
of another
sickness
death inhaled
i will survive
to kill myself
again
another night
but i have seen
the hollow eyes
exeunt of life
a mother
drowning
in stained
cotton sheets
still i cry
at 3 am
under blankets
my only
comforters
fighting off the blankness
in the stares
that were so many
slaughted silently
still i wait
by the grove
where my father
was murdered
by reality
pondering the time
it would take
for my spirit
to wander
like the mother
and the father
i am the beast
that haunts
in the doorways
by the bedsides
in the kitchens
drowning
with the memories
of one hundred
fires
burning out
slowly
and still i wait
always