Under the cover of darkness,
When the sky is bare, starless,
I conceal my pain,
And share my joy with my alter ego,
My other self,
The self the world knows nothing about,
The self the universe can’t talk of,
Only me, myself and I know of.
I cherish the darkness,
I love the night,
I relish no bright,
When a majority of you are dead in slumber,
Only a few are still awake,
I love the night. The stygyian night.
That with no moon, nor stars,
Doesn’t reveal my sore scars,
That which is pitch dark, it thrills a mugger,
Irks vendors, who have to close up early,
Wrap their merchandise in sheets,
‘cause no moonlight on streets,
That which stimulates witches and night runners,
Which saddens lens men ‘cause no alluring views to take shots of.
That. Described above, is what I like.
I love coal-dark nights,
‘cause less interaction from nettling and imprudent humans.
Humans, creatures full of needless drama,
Folks who bring nothing but trauma.
More concentration given to me by me,
Freaky me, yea, eldritch, you presume,
Could be, I’m a distant cousin of aliens, or the dinosaurs.
Maybe my kind is extinct.
Though humans cause some kind of repulsion,
The dark night triggers more attraction.
Reason why I prefer when it’s darkest at night.