Meager Existence

In the still night, the trees still whisper to me
The stagnant warm air whiskers through the open window
With wine still heavy in my blood
I can feel the ceaseless palpitation of my heart
The veins through my temples are like resonance chambers
Baboom baboom baboom
I’d try my best to sleep the sleepless night away
I’d curse myself for my welcomed peace
I’d curse myself for my sheepish defeat
I am torn between worlds
Between unadulterated nothingness
Between all-things permissible under the scorching sun
And the lesser things
The meek yet eager and foolhardy
The hungry and the beggars
The lost and the never or ought never to be found
Recognizing my doom
I simultaneously see the gift that I am burdened with
And the plight of my meager existence 
I should be so blessed that my grief is mostly vicarious
That my heartfelt pain stems mostly from empathy rather than experience
Although my experience was no candy shop on 5th Avenue
I would toss
I would turn
And my bedsheets are all wet and wrinkled
There are no cries here
Just silent sadness
And the alleys are almost as quiet and sad
South of here is where the poor and hopeless congregate
On cold nights, they’d huddle like heaps of garbage
Here however the tramps and the trendy are indistinguishable
Here we get to dream little dreams
And forget our misery and struggle
At least for a brief respite