Why has the night become synonymous with all the ways I wish I could paint by numbers,
Cross the stars to trace your face?
Could I be so certain that the dark contrasts that bleed our canvas wasn’t tainted by the depths we’ve dove?
When the ocean of our souls pulls us under, who would light the fire?
As the light faded to a pinhole,
Could we even see the monsters of the deep,
Waiting with open maws to swallow us whole?
No, it’s the night that takes its hold.
As the taillights streak down country roads,
I know you’ll find a way to signal me home.
Be my liberty,
Be my dream.
Find me in your melodies,
a concert of screams.
I want you to know the me,
no one has seen.
Beyond the cusps of our black mirrors. The night has become synonymous with the way we tangle endlessly.
To all the ones who love the night and have your best experiences with your loved ones at night