Shadows and Corpses
They ask me, ask me and say,
Why are you afraid of the dark?
Why are you afraid of the night?
Why are you afraid of the shadows
that appear in the bright sunlight?
I look at them and say,
It is not the darkness itself that I fear.
No. Far from it, not the beautiful black night.
No, it is what is in it that I fear.
I fear the creeping tendrils
The inky, ghost like tentacles
They skeletal fingers that probe my mind,
Searching for what I do fear.
Searching for the things that I have tried to store away,
Store away far, deep in my mind,
Trying to keep it from emerging into reality,
Trying to keep it hidden
But no, those horrible wisps of smog,
They drag those fears out and place them,
Place them in my mind, fill and overflow my thoughts.
They weave the reality and the fantasy together.
Only it's a nightmare.
A nightmare where I forget to breathe.
A nightmare where my back feels cold and slick with sweat
Yet my body feels like there is something burning.
Burning away at the chains of peace.
Breaking the lock that held back those fears
And they swamp me, they leave me breathless.
I see a shadow, no, a hand.
A dark hand holding a knife,
Yes, coming to harm the ones I love
I see faces in the folds of my blanket and night.
Threatening to swallow me with fear.
I open a door to a dark hall.
Every time, I'm afraid there will be a body.
A limp body hanging out in front of me,
Swinging to and fro, with a dead face looking down on me.
A smile, a grimace, all teeth showing or a mouth of surprise
But the eyes. The blank eyes that stare back at me.
Like a skeleton. Blank and unseeing,
wanting to bore into my mind and eat me.
Eat my very sanity and leave me on the ground.
The cold and unforgiving ground,
with pebbles and twigs and stones,
Rocks and bugs and the cold.
Oh the cold, pressing into my skin.
And then the face. The dead face.
I looks into my view. I can see the limp way the skin hangs.
I scream. Or maybe the body screamed.
And I run. I run until my chest can no longer move.
Until my legs feel like they are being dipped in fire
Until my chest feels like someone pierced my lungs.
Until he mucus comes, suffocating m desperate panting.
It leaves a bitter taste in the back of my throat.
No. I am not afraid of the dark. Not at all as you can see.
No, it is not the fear of the dark.
I love the dark.
It's like a soft cloak of silk
Sliding over my skin
My beautiful bare skin
In the dark, I am a queen
A villain
A lover
I can be the numerous stars
Or the earth itself
For the dark is a paintbrush
Slowly adding shadows
Slowly hiding a weak me from the cruel world.
The peaceful beautiful darkness.
tsuruaka Community Member 
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