They cloud things
like judgment
like thoughts
like the sky.
Bright against muted galaxies
a moth to the silver flames of hell you go.
They brush hardened branched fingertips against your skin
and blame you for the thorns they leave in love's wake.
you are damaged, and that will forever be YOUR fault
because why would they hurt you?
They're there to guide, aren't they?
Alone in the night, they don't make you feel any safer
Watching,
waiting,
predator to meek prey.
They swear sanctuary
They morph to a true shape
Long, dark beings
lunging towards you with
bridged legs and
hooded eyes
crooked smiles they feel are attractive.
You would think that strength means protection
A beam of light in the dark should mean hope
In the Upside Down,
you're not enough to keep yourself warm.
STOP.
Stop and let me go and I won't tell anyone!
But it doesn't matter
he doesn't mind,
because no one can hear you scream
if his hands are down your throat.
we are alone in the dark,
and yet not.
Trust nothing, not even the sun.
They deserve some sort of prize, right?
I mean you owe them.
Pay toll to the streetlights.
Credit to my friend Kaitlyn, who gave me the idea of streetlights being compared to men during one of our late-night talking sessions. See, we talk before bed most days, and it seems that talking on school nights takes us longer for the simple fact that sleep doesn't come to me when I want it, and sleep doesn't come to her either.