the quiet hours
2003-09-20
@ 11:11 p.m.
The Quiet Hours
The silence mocks me. Like a ghastly echo that breathes of its own accord and sings a rancid lullaby in the alcoves of my exhausted mind.
How did it get to be so loud?
When did it become an enemy?
When did life become so ugly that the only hours I can tolerate it are the ones in which I distract myself with the mindless repetitive tasks of daily responsibilities? When did quiet reality become so hard to stomach?
Insomnia strikes again... I hate it. It's born of fear and worry and feeds on its very creators. It hunts down my secrets, my memories, my every thought from exhile and magnifies them to catastrophic proportion. I have yet to find an escape.
An escape...
An escape from myself.
My life is now one continuous distraction. I find the need to be distracted from the false reality that I have created for myself. Disguised in infinate deception. But it's these hours... these quiet hours... that the truth finds me. Comes scratching on the back of my brain, refusing to be ignored. And with it comes emptiness.
I wish the sun would rise.
