I don’t know who I would be, without the darker side of my personality.

The painted desert of night allows me to explore the eternal moonlit forest of my life.

The beating compass of my heart, points in no particular direction.

I pace my steps on its rhythm, though the deeper I venture, the less I can rely on its repetition.

Neatly trimmed hedges devolve into bogs, witches to the west, sirens sing to me through the midnight fog.

The road less traveled stained with blood, a path beaten with hurried footsteps and battered love.

I take to the tress; beneath the wind-strained leaves, the monsters are now stalked by me.

Demons by day evade my pleas. Now, stuck in a dream, they can’t leave.