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As I walk through the empty night,
I stroll through the dark recesses of my mind.
These are places I dare not go in daylight,
Though others would not go in darkness.
I have often wondered how it is that I,
Who is so paranoid in light,
Am so unaffected by the haunting memories
In the dark of the very early morning.
How is it that I,
Who dreads the rising of the Sun,
Am pacified by the emptyness of night,
and look to the darkness as my only friend?
Why is it that I,
Controlling by day,
Am so ready and willing to be overcome
By the engulfing waves of silence?
Why is it that when I close my eyes to sleep,
I dream not of daylight,
As others do,
But of nothingness, preferring black to color.
I wonder now, walking and strolling,
How it is that
Where others see bluebirds and roses,
I see vultures and dandelions.
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