10/25/2015 | 11.25 pm

Some nights the pm hours are nice
The sounds of the crickets
Cool air through an open window
The certain smell that I don't seem to catch
In the bustle of the day
The nocturnal animals will carry on with their lives

But the other times
I'm fucking ruined
The only thing I can hear is my own choked sobs
Muffled only by my hand and will
I only see terrors
Images in the darkness of my walls
These nights always seem a little darker
These nights always seem a little longer
I can't feel the comfort of the night air
I can't smell the familiar smells known only to the night
All I feel is the overwhelming hatred
Directed at myself.

Sometimes the nights are okay,
But mostly my undoing.