Between The Hours of Two and Four

Between the hours of two and four, when the moon is some where over head, I lay awake, unable to sleep.

It's winter, and I'm not cold. Because my blanket is very thick. It's the loneliness I feel, at this hour, that makes my heart hurt.

Between the hours of two and four, at roughly two twenty, I lay awake, unable to sleep.

It's January, and I've grown so old, because my birthday was yesterday. I'm only eighteen, but I feel so frail. My joints ache from laying so still, petrified in thought.

Between the hours of two and four, I've given up on sleep, my anxiety shivers when the blanket is thrown off.

It's Friday, thank god, I say.
Though I have no purpose but to sleep when I'm not supposed to.
And before it I know it, it's Monday, between the hours of two and four, where the moon is somewhere over head, and my loneliness, and anxiety, and the stars align behind my eyes.

I lay awake, unable to sleep.