In the dark, alone,
I’m scared so often,
but only behind my eyes.
A kraken wakes
and I hear it’s moaning.
How, I wonder,
when all around me is still.
What causes such insipid self effacement.
I hate what waits behind my lids,
like being forced to live again,
to recollect, is some great torment.
But honestly, the hurts are done
and all I force upon myself
are simple shadows of what has come
and cannot hurt, so much as sting,
but still, in the dark
I see the light behind my eyes
showing horror films that were my life
and keep me up,