She passes her hands through her hair, she’s shedding.

Massaging her scalp, hair strands fall onto her lap.

Its dark, her night light gets dimmer and dimmer the longer she spends

staring at it.

Finger nails scratch her skin to relieve the itch of everyday struggles.

It’s getting darker, and she panics in silence.

Her heart beat races. Her palms get sweatier and every minute, every second, she finds herself more frighten.

The moon is full and stuffed with light that dares not to shine through her window.

She howls and hears the echo of her own voice through the empty halls of memories.

A screech on the glass makes her head turn. She hides under the bed,

And the night light bleeds into the dark,

Until it no longer has a pulse.

Tears from the lonesome stream down her rosy cheeks,

It’s dark. And the moon is hiding behind the traveling clouds

of  the night.