2am and I am 
Looking out of a window into the cold dark night
of a day that I hardly remember.
Never knowing if I am truly awake or still dreaming
never seeming to understand the way of things.
The night sings of the unknown, of voices in shadows
and thoughts never formed as they scream out truths 
that no man should ever hear.
I fear those truths beyond any doubt and beyond the world I know
lies that world that fears people like me.
People who see what really is and not what should be.
I'm afraid of that world. I'm afraid of waking up because
If I do, I will never be able to sleep again
and when I do sleep, I am free.
I am free of a world that doesn't get what it's like
to be so confused
to feel unwanted and spent and used
to be so without peace
that Suicide becomes something of a comforting dream
and a dream that I.... that I would welcome gladly.
The citalopram fails me again. It's makes me hollow and 
gives truths that can be so hard to swallow.
Am I forgiven? Forgiven for failing my way through a life that holds
nothing else for me?
Why should I be the one who gives up his dreams
when it seems that everyone else around me is achieving theirs?
Blank, cold stares watch me as I look into the night
and although it doesn't seem right, maybe it's good
Good that it all ends now.
Good that it all ends
that it all ends
it all ends.