The night is gloomy and the air is thick.
There's a certain sadness that creeps within the fibers of my being.
In the end, we are all alone.
We walk the paths of life in our singleness.
Thank God for friends and good memories that certain types of inferiority get appeased.
The monsters of the night
haunt and kill.
Always sprawl.
Circling thy being.
We, the prey, abound.
Lying unconsciously,
cut open.
Splintered,
Sedated yet sore.
Not bleeding,
Not wailing.
Swabbed with numbness.
With wounds that heal,
and at times,
open fresh,
flesh anew.
Sticky red blood,
gush.
Forming you.
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