3 AM

I know how it feels,
at 3 am,
when you’re trying to sleep.
 When its not insomnia keeping you awake,
when you’re scared to dream.
 Because every dreams is a nightmare,
and every nightmare has your face planted in it.
  I don’t understand why you’re always there.
You weren’t a bad memory.
  You were all the good ones.
You were the little bit of light I had,
 but the candles burned out.
The rooms dark again.
  Why is it that I keep hearing a gun shot,
when I haven’t been around a gun?
Why is it that the echo of the bullet,
 hitting your skull,
all I can hear when my eyes close?
  Why is it that in my dreams,
that turn to nightmares,
 I’m always running after you?
I’m always too late.
  As if my demons have won,
they remind me that I cant bring you back.
That I wasn’t enough to stop you,
  to save you.
I wish I could bring you back,
 have you stand in a room alone,
and let the gun echo through the halls.
  Let you get a phone call.
"She took her life, I’m sorry."
  Let you understand that they don’t mean it.
That their “sorry”,
 is just spoken to everyone.
  It’s a way of apologizing for bad news,
 not for the loss.
   Let you fall to your knees,
tears pouring down your cheeks,
 I will let you believe that I’m really gone.
   After a day,
 I will come to you.
  Tell you that I’m okay,
and allow you the breath of joy
 that I never got.
  I didn’t get a goodbye.
I didn’t get a warning
  I got a cold phone call,
I got your moms crying face in the schools office.
  I got pain.
I know how it feels,
at 3 am,
  when you cant fall asleep.