At night
Late at night
The voice in my head
The one that sounds like me but cruel
Is dulled
And thorny vines
Don’t wrap around me like they do in the day.
The dark is soft.
The dark is alive with
Fog
Movement
Tiny blinking lights
But it doesn’t hurt like the day.
Night is my time.
Everyone else is asleep
And it doesn’t matter what expression is on my face
Because
No one is going to ask about it.
My body is dizzy for sleep
But this is my time.
I don’t want to waste it.












