The ghostly whispers laugh at me
Deja vu?
Have I lived this night before?
Obviously.
It's the setting of my crying fits
The scenery of him bandanging my wrists
Holding me down
So I cannot run.
This night could be riding in an ambulance lit up like a Christmas tree
Hauted memories
Fitful nightmares
Paralyzing reality
They are this night.
I am my own escape
Yet this night follows me forever.
This night is my prison
My permanence
The place I return to
Each time I fail.
I am what I hate the most;
I am the monster which keeps me from sleep
I am the demon in the back of my mind
I am
this
night.