dusk
falls with my spirits
and the anticipation of his arrival envelopes me.
i know he is coming
for he comes every day, he knocks on the door of my mind like a doting friend
but his presence gives me not the warm companionship
nor makes my heart sigh, content as a curled cat.
instead, my visitor renders me cold as the crypt
and just as full of joy.
his frigid, damp fingers work their way through the cabinets of my thoughts
expelling all reveries and castle-building forcefully to the side,
(for after sundown there is no place for joy)
replacing them with strains and pains and what-ifs and wavering
leave me stripped to my bones
all scintillations of gaiety and bliss
extinguished.
for the monster has come to visit, sweet child,
and his presence will only dwindle away like morning dew on the fingertips of a wilting daisy
as the sun appears.
but rest not on your laurels
for he shall be back when the sun, defender and protector, falls to rest without you,
and with him will bring his darkness
and suffocate your ease of mind once more in the shadows of the cold, unending night.
