In The Dark

It seems nighttime brings out the worst in me. It's when I feel my lowest, my saddest, and all the monsters and demons that live inside my skull creep out from under their rocks and the high ledges and little indents in the ground where they've been cowering away fearing the light of day. They grab at the gauzy edges of the happiness I've amounted that day and slowly, tentatively rip rip rip all the way up until it in two halves. This first destruction emboldens them and all of the sudden there is a frenzy. Ripping, tearing, biting, kicking all around the sheer fabric of my content. Horns and wiry manes twist in and out of the writhing pack and claws and fangs flash through the moonlight. The little creature that sewed the blanket of happiness dances around, "no no no no" and flutters her hands at the destruction of her beautiful work. But there is little she can do, monsters and demons gobble my happiness, leaving me nothing nothing nothing to keep me warm that night. The unholy creatures prance and sing their horrible songs and horrible chants. They rip at the foundations of my sanity, clawing away at ever softer clay that hold up all I count on to keep me going. They sew their own blanket. One thick and black and heavy with hatred and self loathing. Then they find the huddled emaciated figure of myself and throw the thick felt over it, weighing it down with boulders on the corners and bricks on the edges. So I am trapped. And may never get up. When the sun's first rays peek over the dak horizon the creatures scream and scramble back to hiding places, to wait out the day and relive the night. They have cousins to weigh me down during the sun's presence. They may rest. I shall not leave them.