i think this is happening because it's so dark out, and the only time you can really see yourself is when the lights are off. tonight i am a piano stumbling down the stairs, i am chapped lips pooling with summer sweat, that one thing you were always afraid to say, the fear of waking up from a nightmare and having it be reality. i am dante, circling the inferno but i'll never learn. i am that humbling ache when you realize that you're done being proud of yourself, because there's always bigger mountains and more notches to put in your bedpost. i try to count scars like the rings of a tree and i realize that souls have no age. i always wonder if it's still considered loneliness if you choose it, if it counts as being alone if you're afraid of other people. i still want to know if ignorance is bliss, or if bliss is telling yourself you're right, even though you know deep, deep down, it's not true.