This couch is our throne in shadow
Seeping through the open windows
Pooling on the carpet and hiding us from the world.
It’s too easy to believe in evil at times like this.
Melt with me into the night
And let us hope we disappear together
Lost to the world—or fleeing it.
Who will chase us before the way back is closed?
The scratchers, drifters—the ones who shout at the moon
To remind themselves that no one is listening
The lives that reach through twilight to feel our passing
Our hands the conductor
Our beating hearts the orchestra
Our whispered breath the symphony
Our aching souls the final note
Image by Martin Pyško from Pixabay