The dark used to scare me. It's a reminder of memories within memory.
Nightmares roam the hallways of a yellow brick house. Green fences surrounding the slaughterhouse.
Fear brought my limbs to life, dragging me through a dead end of a hallway. When I awoke, I would wonder why I ran towards a closed door.
Always trying to run away. Afraid to stay.
Insomnia forced my eyes awake, long enough to find scratches in a ceiling entertaining. Classes full of my peers was only draining, friendships straining.
Sleep paralysis stole my freedom.
"Am I dead?"
Sound is the only comfort I have now as I feel still, yet the world moves on without me. Laying in my bed having silent fits of panic, trapped in a body that is no longer free.
I ponder if this is what it feels like to be blind, stolen from and trapped under a rock at the same time.
Night terrors would take me to worlds beyond the grave, days split in half by thousands of slaves.
Hallucinations of black creatures surround me. A little girl in the corner scratching out her eyes at me.
Anxiety would jolt me awake to suffocate on air that was there. My hands would claw at my throat as I gasped for air.
Sometimes I think that house is haunted of if part of me still haunts it. Like the traces of blood that live on in the concrete after a split.
But I thought about it.
If it weren't for the dark, we wouldn't see the stars.
