When the day starts to end and I hang up the act.
as I let myself go and the world fades to black.
as you eagerly await the restful nights and sunfilled dreams,
I dread the night though not the dark.
The ambrosial scents surrounding me are sweet yet torturous,
I smell the smells of the place I called home
when I still called it that.
the dark has been my sanctuary of peace through headache inducing highs and lows
and lows and highs.
although the dark too brings it’s own stresses
it is mostly good and infinitely more bright than the life of lies and days of sin.
the night...the dark is my only sanctuary of peace in these deadly times of highs and lows
and lows and highs. I’ve lost track of which is good and which is bad.
the night is frigged when you\'re all alone pondering the memories
both sweet and bitter.
yet at the same time, it has a sense of tepid warmness about it like a warm blanket on
a rainy day.
until you find yourself upon the trigger ready to pull,
and fire towards the underlying depression that shatters you,
but you didn’t know that it is bulletproof.
you will lay there and listen to the tender whispers of sweet songs
and try to block out the pain of the deafening screams inside your head.
but the more you block the more they will echo and the louder it will get
until you are bursting at the seams with noise.
the radiant light will pierce your eyelids and force you to rise,
and when you try to tell them what you experience,
they will want to “fix” you but you are not broken just hurt
so instead of talking you’ll keep it to yourself and let it fester,
and they will wonder why you won’t tell them what is going on
and you will smile and claim that “nothing is wrong”
maybe I am broken…. maybe I do need to be fixed,
but if that\'s the case I can do it myself.
I’d rather not bother you with problems of my own.