Is it me or does anyone else not look forward to night times?
I’m expecting that it’s just me.
Once more the silence speaks its insidious breathless jest into the very pith of your mind
The darkness it wears as a mantle threatens to starve you of oxygen to the point of panic
Its cold breath inhales the life from your lungs and the shaking returns to unfeeling limbs that vainly try to hold you safe
Your mouth opens to cry for desperate attention but the tears that roll down inflamed cheeks choke the words away
The silence wins yet again and you can only wait for the hope of a new day, the only comfort in the vastness of an empty bed, yourself
Even here comfort hides itself in the creases of recessive foetal folds and you know you really are….