theYAMI

Soft through the silence, the whispers come. Unbidden, unnoticed, they slip through the cracks. They speak the unspoken With voices soothing. I listen, I bid them, Though maybe I shouldn't. They come in the night-time, When life's at it's thinnest. The cracks between worlds paper-thin, At their limit. I feel them outside, Looking in. Hungry for life, I know they want mine. I hear them in the branches, See them in the blood-red moon, And know them for what they are. Creatures. Black, cruel, but most of all Me. I make them, With sorrow, with pain, with anger Or fear. They feed on the shadow in my heart, And grow strong.