THE CLOSET MYSTIC

sorrow, 

my strange, familiar bedfellow.

how many nights have we shared?

your whispers wake me,

drag me from slumber.

and yet you call me to bed

at odd hours, promising comfort

but it is always the same—

you tuck me in

under a leaden blanket,

and dangle sleep, a carrot,

whispering

of all that estranges us.

sorrow, 

selfish bedfellow.

I long for slumber—

instead, I listen 

to your whispers.

convincing, bargaining,

you pull me closer,

wrapping me

in arms of ice.

nestled 

in your cold embrace,

I fall 

into the void —

every regret,

a star in this sky—

it’s time travel, you know.

the past shines

from lightyears away—

but these memories,

they burn so bright

all the same.