was looking out the window, lying upside down on my bed when I wrote this. The sky was a dark blue, and it was a chilly night. The wind was blowing, and the air just felt so good coming through my window. It smelled good too.
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The night is beautiful because it frightens me. I love the way it frightens me. I love the pungent sense of vastness, the emptiness, the smell of the dark blue which is the skin of the zenith. I love the way all is blind, the way all darkens against it’s will. It makes me feel free, for it reflects what I truly feel inside; darkness. This way, I can show the world who I am beyond the wall of my affected aloofness. Do I want people to fear me? No, but I desire to show people that there is something that can be feared within me, and that they should be aware of it.

I love the night. It brings me a sense of peace; this coolness that dampers the earth in which I walk. A blue-black sense of solitude. I do not like fear when it is a sense of fantasy. I like fear when it is truly fear…organic fear, a fear that does not derive from cosmic imaginations, and voids of creatures with blood red eyes…true fear is nature, is God, is a supernatural attachment to reality. This is fear that I can truly taste, that does not sicken me and leave me deprived of sleep, a fear that is truly manipulative of my emotions and joy and sense of being alive, that keeps me in wonder of what will happen next, that swells from the indentures of my spine and swells the pink flesh with adrenaline, that makes my heart quake with the force enough to tremble, that does not cry but leaves me on the verge, grab my collar, swinging low on the cliff side, falling, not yet falling. Derives from a hole of black emptiness that was first struck with the dull tip of a pin, now it has been fed with sorrow and that is where this sense of hunger rests.