When the lights go dim,
Or the sun goes down,
The ghost under my bed,
Trying to make no sounds,
It's been weeks, maybe months,
Do I ask, "Why you stayin'?"
Or keep pretending it's nothing,
Like I don't hear the creakin'?
I'm not scared, not really,
But sometimes, I wonder,
Does it get lonely,
Under the bed, trapped in the thunder?
Maybe it's a maze, getting out is in wonders
We're both quiet, it's fine,
It hides in the dark, I hide in my mind.
Is it waiting for me to ask? Or just passing time?
At midnight, I can feel it,
It's breathing with mine.
It's not evil, not angry,
Maybe just tired, Like me after days,
When my heart's lost in it's haze.
Sometimes I wish I could ask, "How you been?"
But then I remember, It's not like I've seen.
We exist in our silence, Me up here, it below,
And in the dark, we're both wondering,
When it'll go.
YOU ARE READING
A poet's diary
PoetryA poet's Diary is a set of poems, written to express feelings, often never shared to the world. What everyone feels, but is too hard on themselves to share.
