the soft,
farmiliar
fuzziness
of your blanket.
the humbling
wall art
comforting
house
a place
where you feel
safe.

the movie
starts.

walls
become tall
narrow,
you never noticed
the way the
darkness
lingers
in the far back corner
so that you
are never quite sure
of what
could be hiding there.

even after
you turn on the lights
you still
tiptoe
through the hallway
peeking
at every turn
swear
you heard something
swear
it's hiding
waiting to get you
scamper
to your bedroom
lock
the door
fall asleep
with the lights on

little did you know
it appears
when you are
asleep.
lurking
watching your every
toss and turn
waiting
for the perfect chance
to strike.

don't
close your eyes
don't
sleep
it will
devour
you.

And I'm so dark, so dark. Dark.
Dark like heaven must be.
And they don't ask why I feel this way anymore.
They just say my name like it is a razor on their tongue.

And he didn't do this to me- I would never give him that power.
But he made me quiet.
Staring out into the rain pouring over the rooftops of this
godforsaken city of unforgivable sin.
And oh. Oh. I know of the sin.

Quiet. Quiet.
And he rages. Ah.
I am the dark and he is the red.
The blood.
The clench of broken knuckles, ruby.
Ruby. Say it slow. Feel it. Do you?
It should ache.

And the quiet. That should feel tense.
Walking on eggshells- so quick to break.

A quiet that snaps and shatters into his rage.
His quiver. His break.
His molten anger.

They say beauty comes out of destruction.
"They" have never known pain.

He is too loud, too loud, too much.
Then too quiet. Not enough.
I.. Am not enough for him.
And when I touch, he pulls away.
I hide my face.
Brick by brick, I shut myself off from him.
I'm almost completely unreachable.

He says: leave me alone.
He says: I don't want to know.
He says: what now.
He says and says and says but it's never what I need to hear.

I say: nevermind.
I do not say: *******.

We are in the car.
He swerves,
says: I should run into a pole now.
A tree. That red car. **** that *****.
I want to die. Do you want to die today?

He screams.
He rages.
He turns the wheel, hard. Hard.
He lets go.
Hands clenched and rabid and
teeth and gleam and eyes so black, so black.
I've never looked at them before.
I wish I didn't look at them.

I am quiet. I am dark. So dark.

He says: sorry.
He says: this is when you say "it's okay".

I do not say: it is okay.
I say: *******.