Scars and Sanity

It's 4am and everything is true. This deadtime, just me and the words. At 4am there's no one around to tell me I'm wrong.

I am sufficient at 4am. I have no needs, just intellectual curiosities and yearnings of the soul. Thoughts are brighter. Probably because everything else is dark.
They say my sleep patterns are screwed, but I think I'm meant to be this way. I'll shiver through the coldest dark, and leave my curtains open to see the moon. I'll stand vigil to every dawn. Just let me sleep through your dreary days, your dutiful mornings and cold-comfort lunches.
I'll tap tap tap all night like beetles in the woodwork keeping you awake. When I'm obliged to keep morning appointments, I'll drift in like a ghost, out of time and fading grey under your too-bright lights.
Keep your bedtimes and sleeping pills, keep your routines and your respectable day jobs. I walk through my own time.