The bright, complete moon alights
upon me like a deserted memory.
I build, upon the fullness of its beams,
shining through my bedroom window
a house, that might house my insecurities,
lying on my bed
staring at the ceiling.
It haunts me like a ghost that haunts no more
As if the rooms of my mind
had been shorn with emptiness
leaving nothing of warmth in the spaces
I once wandered,
just the setting and the place.
And the home I have forced upon these foundations
that holds it all in, this night,
makes slowly its way towards its morning grave.
When I wake to face the coming day,
I wake terrified of being left behind.
