Four AM

Four AM knows all of my secrets, I place all beliefs in four AM. For four AM is my Autumn equinox, my Winter solstice, my soul left restless in between white bed sheets. Four AM knows all of my secrets, & I devote all of my trusting deceit in four AM to keep all of them but deeper down inside of this haunting – Tortured clocks are tick, tick, tocking. 
Four AM unmasks the Whore of Whores, the next hit, my last score. Four AM is when I miss her the most, yet she is the dreamer dreaming of all that she will never be, she says that you don’t want to be like me, the wishful thinker who feels everything & nothing. I just had to find out the hard way 
Guilt feeds her sickening self punishment, & the torment refuses her the gift of forgiveness. And all that she yearns to forget is all that she can fucking remember. 
So, when face to face with this reflection I do not recognize, the depth of darkness I see behind those eyes of mine reminds me that despite the damage – I can survive, & hide among the flock I so despise.
Nothing more than a Whore in sheep’s clothing, such a tragic waste of such delicate skin. 
Colder than the light of morning, I fiend for the steel, the Holy golden brown & stabs the needle point in using her track lines as time lines. Just the Ghost of the woman she never had the chance to become, forced to wear skin & bones that don’t belong to her, nor anyone.
© AleCat 2012

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