Being Freak

the beginning appears as a whisper

a dim vagueness upon the blank wall

that sits opposite the window’s naked perplex;

dawn’s ordinary light turns odd

the bed was not made today;

(it was not made yesterday nor day before)

the air has a murky feel; stale

the room is empty  - in a deviant way

tales and anomalies stand across each other

as do monsters and demons at odds

over the abnormality of the night’s wrest;

insanity hanging with an awful silence

a note of character explains that the conquest

must be made - however sudden or pointless

it might appear;  it was midnight, again...

there was no more time left - to be a freak