At dusk is when I feel loneliest.
No one to stop me.
No one to hold the key.
No,
Dusk is when my demons appear in my head,
wondering if I'll live so they won't be dead.
My demons create marks on my skin;
always wondering which spot to begin
It's gotten to where the spaces have gotten smaller
The marks becoming larger
My existence fading away
Each mark on my skin
Some thick some thin.
Light is darkening
I can't feel anything
Black is all I see now.
