There is an empty stare,
A constant and crushing fear of nothing and everything.
The truck passing up and down the block slowly
At 3:00 am,
The sound of Autumn leaves
pounding the window from a hard wind.
There are bad days and better ones,
And the bad ones feel like an abrupt end to the very light of day.
They feel like death has come swiftly,
From every corner of the world
Only to sit at the doorstep and wait
Until the build has nothing left but to break.
There is no sleep,
And the only dream is of waking.
The quiet is painful,
The noise is an attacker
Into the confines of one’s soul.
The darkest of the dark,
The lurking shadow which races behind.
There is no comfort,
Only tapping of fingers,
And a deafening urge into the silent rupture.
©2012 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved