loss by your own hand

it's 12 am and i cant breathe my mind, flashing through images and moments and pockets of space and time a restless energy a redemptive ache as i scream the name of a distant god its 1 am and the silence is so loud at the computer, i take my first deep breath the world is quiet tonight unlike my sweaty palms racing heart (i dialed your number, my hand slipped) 'why?' i reach a clammy hand out feeling at an endless darkness its 2 am and my brain is hammering against my skull like a prisoner begging for release again i reach for a nonexistent hand can i dial jesus? (i think id like his number on speed dial) its 3 am and i dont know if i can make it until 4 i lay now, praying for the reprieve of sleep my fingers reach up clawing at my eyes tugging at my hair grasping at the small cross gifted to me by someone long lost i stared at your number 'till 5 am 'till the sun peeked his head out as if a reminder that life continues on (though i miss the stillness of night) i miss your hand in mine i cried out to any who'd listen grasping at straws, brokering deals with the spiders on my wall please come home the pastor told me itd never happen but i called your mum and she said you still lived on in me its 6 am now and id like for you to stop living in me and just- just hold me please?