4AM

 Your only success is

What could of been.

Your haunted past,

Made of wood again

Burn those bridges 

Mark the hooligans

Reach out 'The Ridge'

You're bounded in,

Dreams are dead; 

Confounded friends

No offers left,

Who're you standing with?

Shit's so high it's piling quick

Sink in sand: 

My depression trends.

Tis the season; To forget.

Your coldest winter...

Is my living lens.

Seeing faces more,

Than there's ever been

Are they ghosts now 

Or memory splint's?

Times are changing

Season's shift

Running water

Sink that drips.

Rocking chair 

Creaking at 4am.

The thoughts that flow now,

December's gift.