First night back in the old room and I cannot sleep. The birds outside my window are singing like it is daytime.
Sing sweet nightingale my ass…more like shut the fuck up. Mostly unpaired male nightingales sing at night. The females stay silent.
Says something about the darkness to me.
In times before electricity, these birds were a sign of mild weather. They usually would stop singing in the event of storms and such. It was a fair warning sign to batten down the hatches, lock the shutters in, and pull linens away from windows.
There was a silence to NE DC I liked a lot. My walls weren’t thick and I could still here mild traffic and an occasional ambulance but it was ambient noise to my dreams. Plus, I had the central air system that would lull me to sleep and drown out the sounds of the city.
I have no such luxury here.
This room has such a fragrance of the person I use to be. Being back in NJ will be hard for me. Where I live is as far away from city life as possible. Sandwiched in between several farms that is.
This is not my home, it’s a boarding house that has the potential of diminishing my resolve and tampering with my focus.
My frequencies got all shot up the moment I stepped foot of NJ soil.
My circadian rhythm is in fight mode.

Here’s to tomorrow, hopefully shedding some well needed light on my dulling soul.

My large bed with only me to fill it, I’m lost in my sheets.
My cramped room with no central air, I can’t breath.
The rubble of my freedom lay strewn around my feet.
I don’t know what’s more disturbing to me;
That my life can fit in these small square feet,
or that I left my freedom behind me,
dangling off a tree,
dead, swinging in the breeze.

The most uncomfortable feeling is my own body heat.
Second, would be…
Failing and failing to see.

Save me.