power of the night

once again, enveloped in silence
cold shivers tiptoe down the fragile spine
the air is cold, bitter and still
the ticking of the clock, mean and surreal
counting down the seconds laid on the line

as if on cue, it starts to creep
over my feet, my arms, my chest
in the silence, my heart beat's tumultuous
in the cold, the surrounding is insidious
inch by inch, it entraps the rest

what is this i feel, night after night?
this beastly feeling that comes beyond sight
why is it i cannot see what's happening to me
like a little girl, i cave and surrender to thee

what is this i feel, that i cannot fight?
this clouding grey that blocks out the light
sadness beyond tears dropping incessantly
loneliness that slowly climbs increasingly

why is it that i do not feel loved?
that no one else around me is right
everyone is masked by their lies
and i sit here hearing their cries
giving in to the power of the night...

kinda dark and morbid aye? don't worry, it's not me i'm talking about. though i do sometimes feel a bit uneasy when i switch the media player off for a while to construct my poems and all i hear is the ticking of the clock. but that's normal. i'm writing for the guy in the episode of One Tree Hill i just watched. the misunderstood, the loner, the one who hates everyone. though i pity these people, i still think they're creepy.

owell...that's a little goth for you today. toodles! :)