her words scratch
to satisfy my eczema-plagued
soul with explanations
that, yeah,
we all sleep
with a little night light
for years longer than we should.
we've all got parasites
that feed in the dark,
rustle and shake away
at the resolve we had when the sun
stood us up on our shadow-base
the truth is, her and I
have very different night lights.
Hers burns red across the white
and mine burns black
at the end of this pen
searing my thoughts into this poor page.
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