Shadows cast down.
The night is upon us.

A full moon sweeps in
through the window.

Casting shadows.

The night is up
on us.
The full moon swept in.
And lying from my bed,
all I can see is
shadows.

One draped over the side of my bed.

One staggered down
—like


light

ning—
a mirror of my bookcase.

One c

R

a


W


l



i




N




g
out from the closet,
a slimy
green-scaled
monster.

One a silhouette of myself.

Or is it a ghost?


My fluorescent-painted walls mean
nothing.
In the dark.

My sunshine-yellow carpet, only
an abyss.
I cannot walk across.

Trapped inside my bed,
Blinded by the
pale
moon glow.
My sight hesitant to return . . .

All I can see is shadows.