Them Shadowmen

I don’t regret the alone time I spent

with the shadows on my wall.

They were the best friends I’d ever receive and

with a final breath,

they became the fog in my mind.

They were ancient,

bigger and braver than the threatening clouds.

And while the clouds were full of rain,

the shadows were once full of stories

and they swore that if I kept the candle lit,

they would bring me to a forest of thought.

All eyes were on me,

though the shadowmen didn’t have eyes.

Still, I felt their stare.

It was an invitation.

I could become god and legend in

one fell swoop.

Instead, I shattered the dismal offerings of

a life that supersedes living for

curiosity of a future I was probably

never supposed to see.

I didn’t know that I was going to die

so many deaths by continuing sentience,

and it has made me delirious for the poison

of passing into shades of dark and doom.

This bad blood bubbling within whispers

to be released, but we stopped doing that

quite some time ago.

The shadows still watch but they no longer summon.

I am entangled in a maze of mental illness

and I don’t go where one is supposed to go during sleep.

Everything shakes,

is it all in my head?

I am caught between the grey of purgation

and crossing my heart to hope to die.