Lonely Insomniac ((two am...too sweet air))

Oh, bitter two A.M.:
staring too hard at daisy sheets.
eyes so sore from crying
in this room with too much heat.

I've kicked off these heavy covers;
once, twice, three times;
and here I am again
looking at faded evidence of crimes

Take a lung-ful of sweet air,
it tastes far too good to be true.
sit quietly for a moment, contemplate,
just thinking of me...thinking of you.

I can hear the crickets out my window,
no complicated metaphor there,
and the speeding cars on the back street
strangly mutter "nobody cares".

Does this poem sound too familiar?
just letters combined to make senseless sounds.
ironic how all day I pushed people away,
and now all I want is someone around.

The moon out my window looks too small,
too remote-untouchable-to be real.
this clock only ever says "tick",
constantly reminding me of how sick I feel

Night time sounds seem muffled,
but through the silence they seem to slice.
sweet air now tastes pugnent,
on my skin, it no longer feels nice.

The scribbling sound of pen on paper,
it bothers me more than you could know.
I can't sleep at two A.M. again,
knowing I'm going to wake up more alone