Untitled.

they write about you in chilling fright.

we are just a lonely set of numbers of associations and expertise.

Slighted and advancing below

my evil secret night.

through a squeaky foamy window, panicking, senses moving

my wandering, wonder?

shifting, looking through stained letters, showing might

tell me what is fine

what is mine

intimidating words are not of interest

to impress my pretty face.

finally, loneliness and memories are a paler taste

the feeling of guilt

the acquaintances are words I create

the innocent feelings of self doubt

knowing you would never

trying to see this

yet

I can not be awake right now

the same is just too scary

why did you let me do it?