scratch the surface

wait for 2 AM
for what is sleep?
but an inconvenient gap
in this cycle of familiarity
even if a full day ahead
waits already with glint in its eye
with a knife hidden in a sweaty fist
it could go either ways
it knows as well as I do
but what fun is a day
without a few scratches
or some wounds to show for it
every day the scabs open
like doors to the temple
of some ancient deity
reverently we rip them off
consumed by a fervent piety
no matter how much we scratch
how much we bleed
it's only the surface
the wounds go too deep
perhaps now
it's time to sleep