A pile of ancient bricks
stack up against the closet door
A lemon yellow sun hasn’t
heard the shrieks behind
the desolate window
Vanishing clowns snicker
in the obscure corner
Fears subside and twinkle
In the witching hour
the scarecrow yells from
the depths of childhood memories
A ministry of skeptics
preach under the queen size bed
Reciting a sacred testament
of abuse and lacerations
Sobbing whispers live behind
the wretched closet door
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Oh, how our demons can be like the energizer bunny, marching up and down in our heads. The lemon yellow sun, though, keeps trying to filter in through the drawn curtain.
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You are exactly right! 😉
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I love your dark poetry so much 😍
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Thank you!
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Someone told me once that the demons we are most afraid of need to be embraced and held because they are part of who we are, and even they are trying to teach us something. If only we embrace that darkness, it will show us another part of ourselves that we have always feared yet really should be embraced and accepted.
That said, this was terrifying. In its literal sense it speaks of fears that we manifest of our own accord as a children that never truly leave us. In a figurative sense, I think it talks of the darkness we place upon ourselves even if the sun is trying to shine through the cracks, sometimes we still ignore because a part of us wants to live in the dark. I was always scared of the dark as a kid, and hidden monsters and I don’t think reading Stephen King and watching shit loads of horror films at a totally inappropriate age helped the situation.
Or something.
It’s so early and my brain is kind of over active and sleepy at the same time so eff knows if this makes sense. Also…beat you by , like a MILLION words in this comment, so haha.
But you do this darkness so well. Anyone would think you were a really talented poet or something…
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Lol thank you! I love to write a bit of everything but in my head I think I do “dark” the best. I watched a lot of horror and dark movies at a young age myself. You have to realize I’ve been writing my whole life. My style or process has changed over time.
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I get that. We’re made up of many facets. Even over the last few months, my whole way of writing has had a mind of its own.
Why are you awake so early?? What time is it there??
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That’s ok! I’m a early riser.
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I’m sure
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