the windows are shut
the blinds are drawn
the door is locked
the lights are out
but the house is awake

the floorboards ripple
the walls squirm
the ceiling shakes with nervous energy
the doorways twitch

night has fallen
the people inside are fast asleep
but the house is awake

i write my comfort wearily at night
the gooseflesh brought upon my skin by cold
a broken screen, the splintering of glass
all held together by a feeble glue

i find it easy to forget my place
within the realm of things that really are
at midnight, maybe past an hour or three,
when white noise drones within my empty skull

they ache, my eyes, and tether me to earth
one second gone consumes the midnight whole
the crowbar glow is wedged between the lids
the fading world resigns to pure mirage

in hours' time, the cycle will repeat
my sense of who i am will surely ebb