Four o’clock in the morning
Never seemed so bad before
Used to want to wait up
Until it didn’t feel anymore
Waking up with my hands
Wrapped around my head aching
Feeling you slipping away
Or that is what I was wondering
There were images of you and him
Acting like you no longer care
For me, or so I wondered
If you had ever really been here
Dreams are the imagination of
Or the reorganization of scenes
That flash past so fast all day
Or are they pictures of life’s schemes

© 1997 Tim D. Coulter Sr.