Prose poetry: Afraid of the dark

I am afraid of the dark now.

It is a fear which manifested in the waning ink of evening, that deep purple that blankets the sky covering the glittering of the stars with its disdain for comfort, that darkest period of the earth’s rotation, right before the morning light peeks through the blinds, screaming in golden hues, unapologetically.

I lay in bed, cover my head with the comforter and shiver. The indigo of the night’s oppressive stillness creeps up, filling my lungs, choking me with the gasoline taste of dread.

I want to sleep, but my bed is no longer welcoming. I want to stay awake, because the night paralyzes me in fear but I could fight it.


I can fight it

I can fight

I can

If my eyes and ears are open.

Jaw clenched, I shake, shiver under blankets. I can’t find warmth no matter how much I search. So I curl beneath the cotton and pray for some fever to course through me, so I know heat again.

I can sleep during the day. I am safe during the day. All the doubts, the regrets, it’s all bleached out in yellow. It’s the night which exposes the nerve, rubs salt on it and dares me to cry out.

I turn, only more of the night seeping into the room, studying me like some foreign entity unknown to this world. It dissects me, one thought cut open after another, until I try to freeze my thoughts, but they race by, all collected in specimen jars for the night to analyze later.

The television dances colors across the shaded walls of my room, electric comfort which does nothing but remind me of my shortcomings. My adult nightlight to keep the monster dread away.

But they still find their way in.

They always do, when the night rolls in and stays for a while.



Until next time…


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