I broke the fourth wall and found God

Where do you go at 4am?
Back to bed or back home?
Do you have a home?
I think you are my home-
a bunch of bricks plastered together, nails in place with
all the fears you had in third-grade, and
painted with every color you bleed when you’re
sad.

Are you sad?
Do you get sad at 4am?
Is it because he forgot your birthday again, or
because you’re naked in her bed (again)?
Either way, I hope your windows beam with light.
It’s okay to keep the curtains open when you
need to feel alive. Close them when you’re
ready.

I think we’re being watched. The hand on my back,
nudging me closer and wandering too far, is
not yours.
What else is out there?
What are they doing, here, at 4am?
Do you want to be here?
If you leave, your fears and feelings will
cause this house to crumble and
I’m not ready to succumb to the madness
yet.

Please,
don’t

go.

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