It is bordering on 5am

here I sit

fully awake

listening to the mundane hum of a ceiling fan

filter into the sounds

a house makes

when no ones moving

A white spider crawled from the depths of the couch

cross my sheet

& still I didn’t flinch

I simply sat

I sit here

memorizing every piece of furniture

staring at the ripped out stitches of an old couch

until the unexpected gut urge

to seek pen & paper

begin to twitch my fingertips

its an idea

premature obscure and cloudy

but as my search narrows

the

fog becomes elaborate clods packed with words

my eyes would not shut

my mind would not stop placing the words

seeing them in my head as if I had already written it

They floated there for hours

through the background of

headphones TV and conversation

until even now as day breaks into night

with nothing but my heart beat

to remind me that I am still alive

even that seems to thump words

as I conclude my search

when my eyes finally rest on my notebook

Divinely inspired is what he calls it

The peak hours allow sufficient silence

as I think at times my thoughts run so deep

that consumption ensues

I begin to feel every story I breathe

life to

from the time it enters my mind

to the moment its on the page

it is me

invented or not

the characters have faces that I can see

& I must write their story

There is a reason

for sleeping late with scribbles still swirling in my head

for sitting here

to know that now bordering on 6am

sitting here blankly staring at the floral patterns on the couch

isn’t crazy

I write to fill a void

I write because

it is the only remedy

for a long sleepless night

of ignoring a force

that commands me to write

even now

my eyelids sink & I feel sleep

meaning my thoughts may rest

knowing they are held safely within black binding

later to be shared

with those who are willing to listen