Quincy

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It’s late,
 
I know it is,
 
The sky begins to twist,
 
The melancholy purple I’ve come to love.
 
The clock bleeds,
 
My heart bleeds with it.
 
As the sun begins to rise,
 
The deepest part of my soul dies.
 
I look outside,
 
It’s the same as it’s always been,
 
Yet I don’t know where I am.
 
I am afraid to get up,
 
If I do, the world will continue to spin.
 
Out of control,
 
Disorganized,
 
Thinking,
 
Waiting,
 
But who am I to stop?
 
Who am I to hide?
 
There will be violence, countrywide.
 
With that I get up,
 
There is work to be done.