3am snapshot

This room is all there is.
The humid buggy stillness.
House fan rattling, sucking in the
sticky summer night.
Bare legs bonding
with the brown leather sofa.
Sweet Kahlua lingering
on my lower lip.

Detached

I've lost my Self again.
Everyone else is more real,
More actual
And I can't picture myself
At all.
I have to invent a me,
A new one
That's ill fitting.
This world that felt so full,
It's only full of Things.
And I'm one of them.
A Thing that moves amongst the herd.
Neurons randomly firing
Just trying to make sense of it
This stupid chaos.
Soul is an illusion
And these are only words.