Here as one sits contemplating the crack of dawn, from the wrong side,
You think to yourself,
why this insomnia what did you need to see,
Waiting for attention,
Some kind of sign,
But again why are the only words to escape this pencil,
A Million atoms all crying out for an answer,
and a cry do they hear back,
Shame it´s just their own echo they can hear bellowing out to them,
If only they could notice that there cries aren´t alone,
But mere ripples in consciousness,
Bouncing off one another,
But peeling back their own words.
Why why why is all they can hear?
C.J.Churchill