As I lay awake…brought to by the mask between dark and dawn.
Late night phone calls made up of frightful spite.
I am no longer a dismayed child…hiding in the corner of a cluttered closet.
It is only in the dead of winter do I feel a certain warmth.
In the crevices of wee hours, newly forged friendships.
Years pass, nothing could buy my love.
Nothing could forge my amends.
But those selfish hours…have long since gone away.
Last night, a black and white memory of hiding in that closet.
I did not cower from it, as I usually do.
No longer will I play puppet to a dark fool.