We all scare, a little, here
Crowded, breadcrumb beds
That sound, light, or touch
Would drown tearful fears
This pain that clings to us
Memories on a slow burn
Hollowed out the dreams
Years repeat in night’s sleep
I make my last rounds during the witching hours
Check the locks, tiptoe past all my sleeping wards
Still, toiling away during the quiet night creeps
While in the bedroom shows stream in hopes of
Crowding out their darkest remembered dreams
They breathe slowly and softly cry out in the dark
One last race before I lay down my worried head
Dreaming of apex turns instead of counting sheep