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Oct 2014
Nighttime is scary.
The “monster under the bed” or
the “ghost in the dark”
are childish compared to what
the night really holds.
It holds loneliness,
quietness,
truth.
The truth that
you are not important.
not another soul cares.
Your thoughts are your only “friend”,
and even those are dangerous.
Beckoning.
Calling to me.
SHOUTING at me to give in.
Give in to the urges.
Give in to the hurt.
Open the ivory,
and let the red pour out.
The shine of silver was my only solace,
the “light at the end of the tunnel”.
The SHOUTING is endless.
Deafening.
Screaming to make it stop only makes it louder.
The SHOUTING shakes me.
V
   i
      b
         r
            a
               t
                  i
                     n
                        g
   throughout my body.
M o v i n g me to give in.
Give in.
Give in.
It yells.
It screams.
It is SHOUTING.
Cursing,
yelling,
crying,
screaming.
Nothing works.
“just be quiet. please.”
A whisper.
The SHOUTING stops.
I am all alone again.
The silence is endless.
Deafening.
Screaming for it to come back only makes it more still.
The silence shakes me.
V
   i
      b
         r
            a
               t
                  i
                     n
                        g
   throughout my body.
M o v i n g me to plead.
To plead.
To plead.
It’s hushed.
It’s reticent.
It is silent.
Begging,
praying,
demanding,
urging.
Nothing works.
“come back.”
A whisper.
The SHOUTING doesn’t return.
Written by
Shelbie
536
     --- and Morgan Bethaney
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