P.C: CGSoufiane @ DevianArt


At the stroke of midnight

I hear her

in dead silence.

I wonder if she’s back from the dead


She slowly sneaks under my sheets

on her hands and knees

with bed creeking

under her heavy eyes.

She doesn’t face me.

Or maybe she doesn’t dare to.

But need me? Yes, she does,

tells her shaky back

pressed against mine

corner to corner, curve to curve —

digging into my agile toes

are her cold feet

taped by fragile fears

of being alone tonight.

I hear her muffled cries, tears

as clear as water in Switzerland brooks,

gushing out like Niagara,

splashing at the brim of her eyelids,

flowing into a serene river

unfolding memories of

not very distant past.

Make it stop.

Make it stop!


She clenches her fists

holding onto something invisible

in thin air of that silent night

filled with nothing but smell of dead.

I don’t turn her side.

I do not want to disturb

the procession of her demons.

Who would dare to anger

the gods of dead

while they feed on living?

I stare at the window

hoping for a raven to appear

to prey on my disabled heart.

Pick on it, inch by inch.

Put me through the same misery

she is going through

beside me, while our backs are pressed

and feet tangled

feed on us, ravens and demons


not knowing where she begins

and where I end.

— Sonik