Unguarded

I stand unguarded against the night.
The night which used to be so warm,
so inviting, my friend...my only friend.

But now the night is cold and dark.
In the blackening blindness, madness
fills me with torture...my dying end.

Every curt word, every insult, every--
everything. Floods back to me like the stars...
the stars that fall to die for wishes lent.

Why is prose such a hard diction for me?
And friendship such a hard thing to master?
Why is caring, kindness deserving of malice?

Of these I have no answers but disaster.
But of betrayal of the self.
Of acquaintance with the dark, the night...

Svidrigaylov said that the closer you are
to death....the more ghosts you start to see.
Is that why I'm so haunted?

Haunted...such an interesting word.
An action and a state. Sleep now.
No more ghost whispering...

Sleep now and ignore the blackness of the night.
Focus on the blackness of the eyes you close.
Closing like the drawing of a curtain of a play--a tragedy.