3am

With a mute monochrome vision,
I uncertainly break into a heavy sigh;
The deflating red balloon on the mirror
Is only hoping for some peace tonight.

For the third time in 2 stretched hours,
I have tiptoed and poured mindlessly
Bottles of expensive yet inefficient water
Into my parched and stale throat.

You'd find a tropical spring
Not suited to sleepless nights,
When you're sweaty under covers
But the slightest breeze brings cold.

Earphones in, ears aching with frustration,
I restlessly listen with growing jealousy
To the profound snores of carefree days
From my sister's tired but content frame.

The creaky ceiling fan in blurry focus
Vainly sends comforting caresses
To my lifeless body on the feathery bed,
As I search for the dark and worst of me.

Maybe you'd find a tropical spring
Not suited to sleepless nights,
When you're crying secretly under covers
And watch those teardrops turn into dew.

There is great fear, even greater regret,
For I know that I have messed up again,
And today will not be a good tomorrow
As promised to me by my inconstant fate.

Losing control to dream is for the brave
And I'm a coward of sorts, alas!
Because when all is hidden safely inside,
I choose to be found, momentarily.

I believe, you'd find a tropical spring
Not suited to sleepless nights,
When you're glancing at the inaudible walls
But hear burning poetry, whispered to wreck you.

~Swathya