a poem for midnight

nothing makes a sound

so i fall asleep to
the hum of my thoughts,
a quiet and constant stream of
things consumed
only for the mere act of
consuming.

and i perform for myself.
and i perform for you
until my muscles weigh of memories
that i have no intention of keeping.

in the absence of sound
i watch myself move in circles,
a tired shuffle,
a push and pull of the in-betweens.

and i just want to let go

and sleep deeply in this silence
until the new day offers
the familiarity of promise.