Sometimes, sitting here, in the fickle light from the lamp

I wonder how I’ve manage to survive for so long

not a feat, merely a curiosity, a meaning to help me

remember why when I feel as though the world

should crumble around me, like castle of sand

as the foots bear down.

With all there has been to take me down, I truly should have taken myself to a “better place”

as anything is better than this world seems to be

dark, furious and angry, the lights snuffed out

one by one

as I watch from this second story window.

I long for light, long for something to take away the eternal pain

but there is nothing nothing for me

but this darkness and my own demons roaming just outside the door.

Sometimes they come in when I sleep.

They often follow me when I travel, and cackle when I move.

There is no espace.