Three AM

If I could use one word to describe it, then I'd just give up all hope and never mention it, because as much as I want it to be nothing, something I can just pick out a single word to describe and leave it at that, I can't, it's far to important and it's too much of a big deal, to me anyway.

If I had to describe it at all I'd say it was tiring, frustrating, annoying perhaps, but then again annoying is such an over used word, I mean a bee buzzing is annoying but I'd in no way ever relate this feeling to that of a bee buzzing.

I'm talking about when it's three in the morning and you're sort of tired, but then again you're not tired at all. Your brain is nothing but mush under the intense thoughts that blind you and knock all common sense from your system. You're sat with your legs crossed, then with your legs stretched, then with one curled under the other, then you're sick of sitting all together and you stand with the majority of your weight on your left foot, then your right, then you balance your weight equally, but that feels weird, so you sit back down, this time with your arms crossed, then you lean back on your hands, then you stretch them above your head.

You can see why this might become tiring, yet, even after all the fussing around, I'm still not tired. It's frustrating and infuriating all at once.

It's usually three in the morning and I cannot sleep because all I want to do is run around, lift weights, skip, jog a few miles, do push ups and sit ups and any other ups you can think off. I want to thrash my arms and legs out around me like a child having a tantrum, I want to shake my body like a wet dog, I want to do hand stands and cartwheels and all the rest. I want to do anything just to be tired and go to sleep.

And while that’s all fine and dandy, I mean lots of people find it easier to sleep after doing some form of exercise, whatever it may be, I want to do more than just that. I want to scream bloody murder until my throat bleeds if necessary, until it is red raw and it hurts to so much as breathe. I want to pull my hair out and I want to throw things, it doesn’t matter what things really, I suppose something breakable would be ideal for the satisfying crash at the end.

I want to rip my pillow open with my teeth and I want to punch my bed until my hands throb. I want to rip all my pictures off the wall and I want to screw them up into little balls and throw them out the window. I want to do anything to make this night end.

Of course I cant scream, and I can’t break things and I cant do any of the things I listed, maybe because I can’t be bothered to lift my head from the pillow, maybe because I’d have hell to pay the next day, maybe because by the time I’ve listed all the things I want to do I’m already breathing softly, unaware of the cold night breeze creeping through my window and the steady, thump thump, thump thump of my lover’s heart.