There’s so much light.

It’s bright
Glaring
Scorching
Darkness inside.

It’s burning
Erasing
Covering
Truth inside.

Isn’t it beautiful in the dark?
When there’s no sun to mellow tone the brain
When there’s no light to scorch the sight

Dark, like dots on black.

Where the skeleton uproars
The stench crawls  
And the wound moans.

It’s too much light
Too many masks.
Too many smiles.
Too bright.
And Burning.

I like the night sky better.
It's beautiful.
It's cold.
It frees.