There is no God here
And even if there once was
He was a 2-D dream at best

I am fond of the shadows
Thick soft blankets
Protection from the tension of the light
I favor walking down empty sidewalks
Illuminated only by the gentle glow of street lamps

It’s quiet here
In a manageable eerie sense
The footprints left by yesterday
Are the only signs of life here

During the witching hours
Where the world is at its most silent and asleep
Magic fills the air
Creating a new reality

I feel like a guardian
—Or a ghost—
Of the night
Watching over the slumbering people of the city
So they stay undisturbed in time for tomorrow’s strain

I walk through the cold, empty streets
Alone
As a keeper of the night.

I want to apologize to all the poems I never wrote down because the rawness was too much to bring into existence
Some things are better left in the dark
Away from others to hear
Away from myself to see
Yet I know theses denied truths will find their way back to me
From the very depth of my unconscious
What I will do with them
I do not know
Deny them light again, prophase
But maybe—if I am strong enough by then
I will brith them into life
An take a breath of relief

“Why are you still here?”
Is the question she asked me the first time we met.
I was not fazed.
I was not hurt.
I felt nothing.
It is a question I ask myself at times.
I answered with a dry voice in a body that was so quite
It felt like I may be stone.
A stillness so fragile the slightest wind could shatter it.
“For years I’ve crept along life aimlessly,
A ghost with no voice.
Staring at the EXIT sign that follows me everywhere.
I want to go through
And yet my body is too stiff to move….  
I’m holding out on the idea that I may be wrong about the world.
About me.
As I so often am.”
And in the hollowness that poisons me,
I found a shimmer of hope that still resides in me.
A hope that I just may be wrong.

Be good
Dear readers
And love the world like you should
For it does not need us
The way we need it
For we are meager in its Eye
A simple dust in time
And it; enteral

I'm not even the protagonist of my own life.