Charming little room,
Cheerful paisley wallpaper with alert, open windows,
Happy children playing, quietly singing a peaceful song.
The furniture is white,
With pillows so fluffy, bedding so warm.
Silent as the coming of the night,
I attack.
Screaming, I run in, changing the course of the song into a harsh shriek.
I rip down the wallpaper violently,
And eye the children with such rage they run away.
The furniture is kicked, broken, spat upon,
All the fluff torn from the pillows, the teddy bears.
Blankets are shredded with my razor-sharp teeth,
And yet I still want more.
A spell is chanted, and my fingers grow into sharp, even points.
The night consumes the sun,
Leaving no trace of the previous day or the next, either.
Living black, living dark, yet I can see so perfectly.
Innocent children, cowing in the corner.
They saw me tear down their utopia,
And they see the hunger, the hate, the pain,
Everything cold that lives in my eyes.
I move towards them, laughing my manic song.
But they're nudged, helped,
As they run off into the distance,
So far I could never follow,
A shadow steps out of the all-dark night.
"You've got a disease, this isn't right."
I look at him, seeing him though he's darker than black itself.
When I saw nothing, he takes my clawed hand,
But it's not hurting him.
"You've got a disease my fair love,
Turning your blood into ice.
Come with me, I can cure you,
There is no need to exert your pain upon innocent children."
My hands tighten, Digging into his flesh, but leaving no mark.
I look in wonder, and I am so confused, but so cold.
I don't respond.
"My love, come with me. Your disease has you dazed, confused.
Logic won't make sense now, but I promise you'll get better."
His eyes are raw obsidian,
He's using invisible powers to seduce me,
But I am too weak to resist.
He takes my hand, and we fly further into the darkness.
Two months later,
We see no improvement.
The day still won't come,
Trapped somewhere far away,
Held captive by the night.
Often, together we wonder,
What's holding me captive?
"You're rid of your disease, my love.
What refuses to let you go?"
I've kept silent since the day I've met him,
But today is different.
The night is merely grey,
Though I'm certain he doesn't see it.
"I'm not real."
My voice is harsh and raspy,
From being held in for these long years.
"My dear. You talked."
He said,
"Now take a look around. Do you notice a difference?"
And I did.
All along what was now a horizon.
The sun was freshly blooming,
Spreading delicate tendrils of light, which dissolved the dark, like acid.
I looked at him, my love, with pure truth and wonder,
"You knew all I had to do was talk."
But it was a gentle accusation,
And it didn't really matter.
Because I could see him now,
And I see that he isn't made of cruel, cold darkness.
He is made of the purest love there is.
I reach out to touch him, but he vanishes before my eyes,
And I wake up to where I was before,
Lying alone on my blood-soaked mattress.