Tinkering at 2 a.m.

Just like silence seeks
the clicking, tickering drip
of a faucet forgotten, until that moment in time
between the seduction of sunset
and the comfort of dawns light..
stumbling, dreams tumbling
yet feelings linger
fingers grope countertops
and toes stick to tile
the only time doors seem to squeak
and spiders streak the walls as if they knew
that creatures who can squish them with their shoes
shriek in meeting, greeting them in utter fear
delirious with the stories we hear
that are never often true-

It is only what we choose to believe
I'll read chapters 1 and 3, but 2 just doesn't sound good to me
until we're shuffling the pages;
adding numbers at the bottom
and reciting broken phrases,
forgetting quotations
and placing our own names-
now nothing is original
and nothing is the same.
tamed and toned, we lose context
concepts are replaced by strings of dates and times
defined no longer by ingenuity but how many words they can rhyme
trying, flying in their minds drying tears yet they'll keep crying;
we're only lying to ourselves
this is not what was meant to be said,
but what came out
in the silence
the most innocent beginning
so fragile, as the dripping faucet shattered my vulnerable dreams
I choked it tight, expecting peace..
but I've never felt more lonely.