Winterlight

I was home. Well,
I stood and peered at
my feet, and it was home.
My friend and I, it was
an old window, chipped
paint and rotting wood.
But a glorious light shined
through the dusty, worn
panes. Most of them,
anyway.
Behind me, surrounding me
was the familiar darkness.
Smoke scents, fresh paint
a delicious return of lavender
brushing cotton lint
wavering voice, clamor
of the pressure, gas fumes
precipitously ready to
combust. I stared at my
shoes, and winked at
the shadow, thinking
it would leave and depart
the realm of loose souls.
To wonder through white
flames, forever pondering
a time of escaping the
crescent of a blunt
silver moon. But the
shadow stared back
and did not move,
A spot of light touched
the thin spot between her
breasts, intermittently
blinking, a pulse in
the shadow, which
sat ever growing
beneath me. I thought
I saw her smile, and
embrace me. A lie
and the darkness,
and I was again trapped.
I remembered that I loved
the darkness, and
how could I forsake it,
I asked myself. My pensive
mind challenging my logical
notions of sanity, but broken
were the chains, and never
again would they be locked.

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