There’s a lightbulb flickering. Just flick flick flickering and reminding me that I’m cray craz crazy. Heh. It’s struggling to stay alit, a heroic battle of perserverance against the dark. The dark. The dark is where I lose myself to my thoughts. To my unacknowledged feelings. To my buried memories and orphaned ideas. The dark. Burn out little lightbulb, it’s okay, you’ve done your best but your best wasn’t good enough. It never was. The dark. Even at your brightest, you never protected me from the dark little lightbulb. You never kept me shielded from the dark. Safe from the self-doubt. Guarded from the sorrow. Even in my room free from shadows, even when every crevice was lit up bright a summer day, the dark still crept in. It shimmied it’s way under the door. It oozed through the windows and closer and closer and closer it made it’s way. From the floorboards it moved higher. Closer and closer and closer. To my bed. There is no monster in my closet. There is no monster under my bed. The only monster that’s around lays restless on my pillow and beats tireless within my chest. The dark. It doesn’t really refer to the light. Little lightbulb burn out now, don’t you see? You never helped. I was never safe. The dark cannot be scared by your ever diminishing shine. It cannot be halted by your incandescent glow. The dark. I am the dark. Oh little lightbulb, how do you propose to protect me from myself? Burn out, little lightbulb. Burn out.