• When the lights go out at night
    The ghouls come out to take delight
    In your worry, fear, and grief,
    Your rights and wrongs in stark relief.
    Their slimy, sticky fingers trace
    The lines of tears run down your face.
    Their cries and wails go ‘round your bed
    Like memories of words best left unsaid.
    The claws of doubt dig in your spine
    With fire and ice, their rage combine.
    They slither and slide, feed off your breath,
    Yet what they hold is never death.
    That blackest pit is only found
    Within the soul of sufferer, bound
    Tight to your heart, made fast with spite,
    And beating to the pulse of the night.