Wake up
And smell the vanilla perfume.
My room smells like a bakery
With a faint undertone
Of fake flowers.
The odor
Of rotting stones,
Dust-collecting memories,
And long-forgotten romance
Clings to my bed sheets.
I scream
Into my pillow
Every
Single
Night
From nightmares without faces,
Fears that forgot their names,
And the dark.
Yes,
I am still afraid of the dark.
Not because i can't see
Or even what COULD be hidden
In the unknown corners around me.
I am afraid
Because sometime after i learned
"Nothing is there"
And somewhere before i learned
"Except for your imagination"
I realized
The dark was the only thing
I was comfortable
Being in.
