I have a little friend who visits me at night.
Yes, you heard me right.
When the blood gets too hot and my thoughts stumble,
I hear It
At the door scratching its way in, small, rigid hands clawing at rotten wood.
And when I let Him in, the room is filled with light
Pink embers racing up my sheets
Dark fire enveloping my feet
Her smile is so dark and fast, a little homage to the past
We sit and talk about our day, It never has much to say
But I talk as if I were alone because when I turn to take His hand
Nothing but air fills my palm
I search and search for Her all night until
Dawn breaks and I give in
Lean back into Her glowing trace!
My head buzzing with thoughts of It, flies infesting rotten flesh
And when, again, I hear Her near
I feel everything
Except rising fear.