6AM

It’s 6AM, the sun peaks up from the desolate horizon. I am jarred awake by the nightmares. I am jarred awake by the nightmares. I struggle to find the will to get out of bed, to do anything but lie there, wallowing in the unending misery that is my existence.
It’s 8AM, I’m sitting in school, nothing is going on. The bars of education hold me prisoner another day. The more I learn the more I hate about myself.
It’s 12PM, I sit alone at the lunch table, my friends around me are talking about hair metal. Do they even know who I am? I glance across the cafeteria, I see her, the hundredth girl of my dreams  that I cannot have. I’ve talked to her once or twice but I can tell she is repulsed by me. Why do I even care?
It’s 2PM, as the school day draws to a close, I sit on the stairs, wondering where my life went so terribly wrong. Wondering why so many people call me a friend, and nothing more.
It’s 4PM, I stand on the court , tennis racket in hand. The player across the net serves a ball that I cannot return. This game is hopeless, I lose without winning a single set.
It’s 6PM, the phone rings, for a second I think it might be the hundredth girl of my dreams,  but no, I can’t have her. Instead, it is my stalker. I am the man of her dreams, but she cannot have me. The very thought of her repulses me.  I feel the sheer hypocrisy, it chokes me into a pile of dirt.
It’s 8PM, I return to the run-down trailer park from which I grew up. I approach Stalker’s house, I couldn’t say why I was there. She opens the door her trailer overwhelms me with the smell of whiskey and day old pot. I come in, all the time wondering what I was doing there.
It’s 9PM, I am waking the cracked streets of my childhood. My stalker walking beside me, happy to be out of her pathetic trailer. I see the trailer I used to live in, the paint peeling off the sides, grass brown and dry. A car lay on a stack of cinderblocks, it’s windows smashed. I cry, this place was once my home.
It’s 10PM, I feel like the night is making me lost. I feel nothing. My stalker is whining because it’s time for me to go home. She plants a juicy kiss right on my lips. I feel dead inside.
It’s 12AM, I’m sitting in my room, darkness choking me. The world is dead, but I am still alive.
IT’s 2AM, I’m battling the urge, the hopeless void that is the air I breathe.  I desperately look for an escape, from this day to day formality, this life, myself. I cannot sleep, yet I cannot be awake. My mind is leading me astray.
It’s 4AM, As seconds pass like hours, this night draws into insanity. I cannot bear to think, for every thought sends me deeper into this void. I can’t stand it anymore, I know there is a way out. I am not afraid, I get out a pen and paper and on it I write; “To anyone that cares, I’m sorry, please understand that this was always meant to happen.”
It’s 5AM, I feel the cold knife blade tearing into my flesh. Blood ever so gracefully oozes out of my wrist. The pain is resolved by the promise that soon I will be free, I will be nothing. As I lay on my blood soaked bed, feeling this horrid life drain out of me, I can’t help but smile as the sun peaks over the horizon. Then everything fades to a blurry nothing.
It’s 6AM, the world is awake, the day will go on, without me.