"i think there are horrors
in the dark, my love. i think
they're out there, waiting to
be embraced — teething, but
they don't have anything to
hold on to.
goodness, i don't think they
have anything at all that can be
considered something worth staying
in the night for. and that's
why i hate it. this—this
writhing carcass that we
think is beautiful because
nobody can understand
what it is.
yet.
i pray no one ever does.
i pray no one ever comes to
witness the numbness and
fear that comes with the
knowledge that's to be acquired.
especially you; oh, i believe my
heart won't fare from its state
if you were ever to fall victim
to such a hollow place. i think
—yes, i do believe that feeling
overwhelmed in the heat of
the early, damning thoughts
of mornings is better than
living in the dark.
the night.
whatever it is that they call grief nowadays."
YOU ARE READING
THE SMALL HOURS // COMING SOON
Poetry[ in which poetry thrives between midnight and daylight. ] ❝ big dreams are born in the small hours, love. that's how they're kept safe. ❞
