When Lights Go Out

When Lights Go Out

When lights go out,

the silence cracks open,

and faces bleed from the cracks.

They don’t just whisper mistakes,

they chew on them,

spit them back like broken glass.

They crawl through my skull’s corridors,

eyes dripping ink,

voices thick with poison.

They name every fault like a curse,

every silence I swallowed whole,

every truth I buried deep.

They slither under my eye lids,

fingers cold as grave dust,

pressing memories like bruises.

I try to scream,

but my voice is a broken key,

lost in their endless maze.

They feast on the dark I hide in,

growing taller with every blink,

waiting,

always waiting,

until lights betray me again.