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.