The Night Owl Hates Linguistics

At night, I drag myself from

the covers,

cold and ravenous,

even in the hundred degree heat.

I creep through the hallway,

and hold my own gaze in the living room window.

I wish something would look back.

To assure me that I'm not the only one left.

Still conscious.

Still walking with clacking wrists

and circles under my eyes that disappear by first light.

Like all nocturnal things

shivering in the unfamiliar warmth.

Silver-spoon moon. The

only constant companion.

There is no quiet like night quiet.

No darkness like kitchen-stove-light.

The world is not the same place come day.

Superficial.

So very entitled to every glance.

At night, we are all shadows slinking around the periphery.

We are children's story monsters or depressed.

Probably both.

They try to define it but nothing sticks.

That is fine with me.

For I am so very tired of definitions.

I shredded my dictionary yesterday.

It kept insisting each word had an explanation.

It shoved them into cookie-cutter sentences.

But it doesn't work like that.

How foolishly we've been raised.

To fear night and trust in a concrete meaning

for each and every syllable.

We were deceived.

Stripped of language's freedom.

The ability to put words to any single thought

stolen right from under our beds.

Meanwhile, they taught us to shrink at

our own shadows.

-Sunni Usagi-Koi

Inspired by H. Salt <3 Thanks for the inspiration! :3