In the dark, alone,

I’m scared so often,

but only behind my eyes.

There, lies.

A kraken wakes

and I hear it’s moaning.

I shudder.

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,



and shivering.