they write about you in chilling fright.
we are just a lonely set of numbers
of associations and expertise;
slighted and advancing below
my evil secret night.
through a squeaky foamy window,
panicking,
senses moving—
my wandering, wonder?
Shifting, looking through stained letters,
showing might, tell me what is fine,
what is mine
intimidating words are not of interest
to impress my pretty face.
Finally, loneliness and memories are
A paler taste, the feeling of guilt
the acquaintances are words I create
the innocent feelings of self-doubt
knowing you would never go,
trying to see this, I can not be awake right now.
the same is just too scary
why did you let me do it?