Night-Time Crier

I am the night-time crier
I have been ever since that first time I died
-As Dickinson would have said-
But I fancy myself to think a little brighter.

And yet, I truly am the night-time crier.

When lights go down and everything’s quiet,
I move out and bring every suitcase with me,
And showcase them in a stand only I should see.

My eyes turn into waterfalls.
When Anguish takes its nightly strolls.

How painfully beautiful it is sometimes;
How chokingly unsolvable it is when wise.


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