when the clock ticks past six at night –
tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock
a raven caws its sorrows
among the outline of trees standing stark
against a backdrop of a blackhole
of lost dreams –

my dreams are plagued with shadow monsters clawing futilely –
lights just beyond its scabbed claws –

the woman on the moon screams her pain
into the endless vacuum of emptiness –
beauty does not substitute for loneliness,
and fairy-tales will never substitute for reality.

night – subtle sighs of pain, loss, regret, anger –
hush, my child, close your eyes

enter a world separate from this world-encompassing fear.

the sun rises in the east,
the woman on the moon pulled away from the star lights –
fated to be alone forever, tears falling to earth but forgotten
amidst the superficial heat of the sun –

bury your pain. get up. the night is over. pull back your curtains. chase the cold away with warmth. that will fade away. at the end. the day starts again.

the clock ticks.

you are strong.

the night is not always beautiful.

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