Songs of Suburbia

8.

midnight burning

across the void of cyberspace I hear you call

see the little green dot – an eye

wide open and burning,

burning up the restless hours

when we should all be asleep.

But no,

not us

the wide-awake ones

you are the nocturnal schemer who sleeps through school

and I the dreamer you corrupted.

we share condensed snippets of our souls

through a little window

hoping they cross the void

and yet, fearing that they do . . .

and in the daylight I can never seem to meet your eyes

knowing what I have shared.

Still,

together we hatch our plots:

schemes are born

in the liminal space

between night and dawn

feeding our insomnia . . .

and something else?

three grey dots

floating, beckoning, promising . . .

I sit here bleary-eyed

with a face full of blue light

and a mind full of answers

that won't quench

the questions whirring in my heart.

Those 3AM Facebook conversations leave their mark

not just by the ashes under my eyes.

each one sears something onto my soul

sears something onto each silent second that slips away

each furtive hour

each moment I could have, should have said:

. . .