3AM

3AM

It's three in the morning again. Three in the fucking morning. I
should be asleep, but I'm not. It's the insomnia fucking with my mind
again. It teases me, it taunts me, it tortures me. And my life's a
fucking mess.

The phone rings. Again. Right on fucking time. It's those little
shits across the street again. I know it is, I can see them in their
window when I look through my window. I don't know why I don't just
unplug the fucking phone.
"Fuck you" I say, my temper simmering ever so slightly beneath boiling point.
It's only when I put the phone down that I realise that I've actually
pulled myself out of my chair and answered the phone. I heard it ring,
but when did I get up and walk across the room? It's late. Too fucking
late. Three in the morning. Again.

Those kids, I could hear them giggling on the phone, I could see
them laughing at me. They tease me, they taunt me, they torture me.
They're kids for fuck's sake, why aren't they in bed? Why aren't I in
bed? Three in the morning, and the insomnia is killing me. But the
morning grows on, and I find no rest nor comfort in my blistering
solitude. Not even a wink of sleep or a whisper of peace. The phone
rings, and it drives me fucking insane.

I rarely talk and barely whisper. No one to talk to but the
delinquent faggots across the street. I rarely talk. I barely whisper.
The phone rings, I answer, I always fucking answer. Three in the
fucking morning. In the silence and monotony, in my ever long comatose
existence, I crawl up in my chair and imagine the sound of the phone
ringing. I rarely eat, I barely move, I never sleep. Three in the
morning, and I'm still in the same situation, can't get to fucking
sleep.

So much silence, so much isolation, yet I feel like I'm still in the
middle of it all. Mother of all migraines, the sounds ring on in my
head, with crystal clarity magnified a hundred times. It teases me, it
taunts me, it tortures me. Three in the morning, the phone rings, and
it's all part of the head-splitting tremors roaring inside my head. Did
I just answer the phone again? Did it even ring? I can't fucking
remember and I'm beyond the point of caring any more. Insomnia, it's my
worst nightmare. Three in the fucking morning.

I'd take some meds for the headache, but I know they'd be useless,
and the full rage of my splitting migraines would be back up to maximum
in no time. I'd take some sleeping pills, but I fear the temptation to
down a whole bottle would be too fucking much for me to handle. So the
phone still rings and I'm ever awake. It's three in the morning, maybe
it's time to put new batteries in my clock.