Chris Butler

The Dark Side

The dark side of me
hides from the bright side of daylight,
imprinting a pale face
against the drawn shades.

As dark as a demon
cowering in the corner of the achy attic,
bloodshot reddish eyes
is the only sign of life.
Sunburnt by supernova
galaxies lightyears of lifetimes away
eclipsed by crescent moons
as the crowd inside boos.

The dark side of me
screams in my only hour of sleep
and stains the sheets
during lucid dreams.

Being me isn’t being myself.

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