It's almost three a.m.

I'm sitting in a kitchen

That is not my own


Yearning to write

But only able

To think of your complexities

How confusing you can be

But I must satisfy my urge to write

About your complexities

Your confusion


How can you know what to write

If you don't know your subject?

It's writing a mystery

Without knowing the ending

And I'm the novelist

Ideas slowly forming

But still, unable to make a conclusion

I think I'll need some coffee.