Hour of the wolf

A Poem by JD Hyde

Something I wrote a while back.

Hour of the wolf

3 am.
3 am, hour of the mother f*****g wolf. And at 3 am you can hear him howl. That's the time of night you're thinking about suck starting that pistol.
3 am IS a mother f****r, and it will eat you.
3 am can last for hours some nights. You start by looking at the clock and cussing it.
You try to go back to sleep but you just can't get comfortable. Then you start thinking, remembering every mistake you've made.
You try to shake that off so you get up, even if you live alone you walk quiet.
Pour the last from a dead pot of coffee, and wish for whiskey. Grab your smokes and sit on the porch. It's nicer outside but the thoughts don't let you go.
Am I?
Why did I?
Why didn't I?
What if?
Questions like that eat into you. And at 3 am they gnaw deep. You think about the women you left, and the ones you should have.
Can you really do this?
What if people are right about you?
F**k, the bike is right there. Jump on that cold b***h and ride.
F**k it. Become a Mexican. These people are better off without you.
Dumbass, they are right about you.
3 am lasts through half a pack of smokes, but that clock finally tocks, it goes over to 3:01.
You crush that last cigarette and go back to bed, rest up to fight the wolf tomorrow.
Cause 3 am will eat you alive.

Hyde