At Four A.M.

"Useless, useless. . ."
At four a.m. in the morning
Darkness streaming in
Through a half-blinded window
I feel a knife posed
Against bare skin
Not a cold blade heartlessly
Ready to pull liquid from
A pulsating vein
But warm steel waiting
To embrace then release
A lonely life.

This exhausted dreamer
Lids jammed tightly together
Lips bitten bloody
Cannot give up the ghost
In lieu of sleep  
Tired eyes search
Spider-webbed corners
And wonder if God is watching
Or dead on the cross
Or merely a myth
And I have no words for oblivion
But these.