At dusk, the beast prowls,
unbidden, through my bedroom
with a ravenous appetite.

Famished, he devours me
and drowns in my gore.

She fades from your memory,
like weightless dandelion seeds
stolen
by a gust
of jealous wind.

And the next time you see her,
she is just another stranger
swimming
in a rough sea
of unfamiliar faces.

Its a deep type of dark.
Pitch black on the edges
and darker
somewhat spirally and almost
almost stroboscopically grows
darker as it quickens
into the middle.
It's a slow type of dark.
So slow it seems to be motionless
as though movement forms before and after it.
It's a quiet type of dark.
So quiet it seems to hum in the ear.
So quiet it could be termed
dark silence?
So silent it scares.
As though there is a whisper
not heard through the ears
but felt
in the heart.

**** doesn’t always hide
At parties and outside clubs
**** doesn’t always hide
In dark alleys and empty parking lots
Sometimes it is right in front of you
But you choose to look the other way
**** doesn’t always hide
Behind the faces of strangers in the night
Sometimes it is hiding behind the closed doors
Of your uncles
Cousins
Fathers
And brothers
**** isn’t always loud-
Screaming, yelling, and crying
Sometimes **** is quiet-
Gasping for air and silent tears