before sunrise.

it is pitch black,
but the birds call.
i've always wondered why
they croon, or chirp so early in the morning.

i sit here huddled in the dark--
it sends me to a depressive place.
i don't get answers in the dark,
rather,
i lay on my side and wait for morning.

the sighing continues,
i contemplate, i agonize,
i feel, i cry.
there is nothing to do but
listen to the repetition of
inhale,
exhale,
inhale,
exhale.

the sighs only get louder.