Dark Time

The past haunts you when woken in the night.

Inside, the soul taps the body awake ‘n breathes on your toes

reliving, the self, in the eyes, that you see

and you look, not daring move, immobilized from fear

of dying by the monster in the room and the self that you see

that you want to fight away because he is the Grim Reaper.

It is all so indecipherable, ununderstandable, you pray to the pillow

don’t wake the Grim Reaper up from its death or realize you are no longer asleep

as it sweeps, air feathering the feet as, by here, there by your head, behind,

relapse; relapse into; relapse; don’t let it; what will happen; will i die

opening doors, the dog comes in, sniffs, you see its eyes, it sees yours, it must be possessed, it is the Grim Reaper peeking in your door with its antennae snout,

don’t let it feel my scent or it will come, living its death in new light,

because I’ve been caught by the ghost of past.

(If you reopen up your psyche the was, is living just like you are and it rushes back in although you’ve grown past and understood it was faulty and younger than you are now, and dangerous, for you now, because there cannot be two yous in one world in the same time; if the past becomes now, do you die?)