echoing laughter emanates through empty tunnels
hidden from that safe red street lamp glow;
and I quietly notice how I am always a shadow
in the trees that move in the wind as they’re changed by the season.
A collection of lost souls I nurture and hold as I rock myself to sleep
And I can’t cry for them
any more than I can for myself.
The silent, gentle suffocation
which squeezes the breath from my lungs
snuffing out the candles
I meticulously lit on my way to my room.
It’s still and dark and creeping
and I feel the energy to smile slip away as I talk
Just as quickly as the uncertainty
which shuffles in uninvited
and steals the silverware from the kitchen.
An audience applauding the self deprecation Muffling the screams for help
As i’m invited to their table
but never quite loud enough to shout above the off stage rumble.